


Sands of Abydos

by Silbrith



Series: Arkham Files [7]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, White Collar
Genre: Adventure, Gen, New Year's Eve, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: An ancient Egyptian necropolis holds the key to unlock the power of the armillary sphere. Arkham Files story #7, a blend of White Collar and the world of the Cthulhu Mythos.





	1. Whiplash

_Notes: Sands of Abydos takes place after the events in the sixth Arkham Files story, Time Crystals. I've written short summaries of the previous Arkham Files stories for the blog I co-write with Penna: [Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/). The post is called "[Inside the Arkham Files Vault](http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/05/inside-arkham-files-vault.html)." For a status update on the main characters, see my post: "[Vault Acquisition: Sands of Abydos](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2019/10/vault-acquisition-sands-of-abydos.html)."_

* * *

**Miskatonic University. Arkham, Massachusetts. Friday, December 26, 1975.**

Sara untied one of her skates, pausing to gaze at the ice-covered pond. "We should make this a Christmas tradition."

Neal unscrewed the thermos cap and poured some of June's Creole hot chocolate into two mugs. "Mom would have approved. When I was a boy, she used to take me skating at Frog Pond on the day after Christmas. It's on the Boston Common and was always crowded with skaters that time of year. She would have enjoyed the serenity of this location."

Nathaniel Pond was part of the arboretum on the Miskatonic University campus. With students currently home celebrating the winter holiday with their families, he and Sara had it to themselves. They'd skated for an hour with only a few woodpeckers and foraging chickadees as spectators.

Sara clinked mugs with him. "I wish she could be here with us."

He nodded, grateful for her understanding. Up to a couple of weeks ago, he couldn't remember anything about his mother. Now, thanks to an inadvertent gift from Azathoth, his recollections were back—the sad as well as the happy.

"I was worried I wouldn't be able to make it back in time," she continued. "Nigel kept flinging last-minute requests at me. But compared with the journey you took, a cross-Atlantic flight was a small hurdle."

Sara had taken the red-eye from London, arriving after midnight in Boston on Christmas Eve. Neal had been there to greet her. Apparently weekends and holidays didn't mean much to the _International Herald Tribune_. She was assigned to the investigative team researching the Starry Wisdom cult, and the other members had flown to Edinburgh on Christmas Eve to research a hot lead. She'd depart later today to join them. Neal would have complained about the briefness of her visit if it weren't for the fact that the next day he was scheduled to fly to Egypt, along with Peter and Mozzie.

"I wish I'd been better company for you," Neal said. Despite his best efforts, he seemed caught in a weird time loop where he kept flashing back to the deaths of his mother and grandfather and to memories of the Meropian who'd been his father. The harder he tried to focus on the present, the more frustrated he got.

"We'll make up for it next time," Sara said, clasping his hand. "Are you still feeling out of sync?"

He nodded. "My life in 1961 is still playing games with what's happening now."

"Time whiplash, that's what you've got," she declared. "Less than two weeks ago you were merged with the eight-year-old version of yourself. You went through, by my reckoning, four different wormholes. Who wouldn't feel disoriented? I knew before I left for London that Christmas would be difficult because of Kate. Finding out about your family has made it so much worse."

Last year, Kate had visited him in Oxford over the holiday. He'd proposed to her on Christmas Day only to have her die four days later in a plane crash. Now her death seemed more remote than the murders of his family which took place fourteen years ago. The timelines were scrambled in his brain.

"Peter asked me if I wanted to wait a week before leaving for Egypt," he told her, "but we only have a short window before classes resume at the university. No one knows how long we'll need to stay." They were on a quest to find an ancient crystal in Abydos with next to no information on where it might be located. Tomorrow a limousine would take them to the airport. They'd be in Egypt on the day Kate died.

"So far the Celaenians had shown you the way," Sara pointed out. "I expect they'll do the same this time."

"Nothing like relying on invisible aliens for guidance," Neal said, attempting to make a joke out of it to disguise the increasing unease he felt about his situation.

"It's a good thing Gideon is providing the funding," Sara said with a laugh. Neal breathed easier when she didn't appear to notice his discomfort. "Imagine how that would look on a grant application!"

"The university president has no idea that Gideon Talmadge, global financier and Miskatonic's major benefactor is from the planet Merope. He's happy to go along with any requests Gideon makes for Peter's field expeditions, especially since the discoveries add to the university's prestige."

"He might be a little suspicious of Lavinia," Sara said. "There's definitely something otherworldly about Gideon's fellow Meropian." She blew gently over her mug. "Remember your promise to keep a diary of your adventures. I'd hoped to be there with you." She sighed melodramatically. "All that wasted time studying ancient Egyptian history."

"Don't let Peter hear you say that!" Sara's comfortable banter was a relaxing tonic. "My bet is that your effort won't go for naught. This will likely be the first of several trips. Elizabeth's just as upset as you that she's not going along." Peter's wife had intended to accompany them, but when a fellow neurologist came down with the flu, she needed to take over his patients.

"Is there any chance you could stop in London on the way back and give me a personal report?"

"I'll do my best. Our reservations are open ended. We have no idea how long it will take to find the crystal or if we'll even be successful."

"You'll find it," she said confidently. "That lucky dragon will lead you to it."

He smiled and pulled out the pewter keyring. It was a gift from Henry—another person he'd had no memory of until two weeks ago. Henry had for a short while acted as a big brother when Neal was fleeing from the ghasts who'd killed his grandfather. Henry was certain the dragon would protect him, and so far it had. He and Peter made it back from Tirelia. And maybe that dragon had a role in Sara being able to return to Arkham for the holiday.

"Not only that," she continued. "I bet when you come home, you'll find a letter waiting for you from Henry."

"I hope so." When he returned from Tirelia, he'd visited the shelter which had been Henry's home till he was eighteen. Henry had left a post office address in the Netherlands in case Neal came looking for him. He'd written to Henry that same day but so far there'd been no response.

As a child, Neal had celebrated an early Christmas with Henry. It was partly thanks to Henry's help that fourteen years later he was able to celebrate the holidays with those he cared about in Arkham.

They only had a few short hours before they'd have to leave for the airport. Neal's feelings of animosity toward Sara's overly demanding boss, Nigel Hastings, were increasing steadily, but for her sake, he bit off the sarcastic comments. Nigel was in charge of the investigative journalism unit for the paper. For Sara to be working on a project with him was a fantastic career opportunity. Neal remembered vividly how jealous Sara had been of the French Interpol agent Raquel Dubois when they'd been in Lyon. He was determined not to fall in the same trap.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," she said, rousing him from his thoughts. "I have it under good authority that time whiplash doesn't last long. I'm sure you'll have it licked by my next visit, which I guarantee won't be far off."

He hoped she was right. For now, all he could do was soak up her confidence. When he kissed her, her lips tasted of June's mocha voodoo, appropriate for a woman who'd cast a spell on him and he didn't want to break free.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal returned home from taking Sara to the airport, he found a telephone message waiting for him. June had taken a call from a student who wanted to meet with him. Neal wasn't familiar with the name. The phone number Kyle Jordan had left connected to the Cavendish Hotel in Arkham.

When Neal called him back, Kyle explained that he was transferring to Miskatonic from Boston University and hoped to enter the linguistics program. He was late to register. Classes for the upcoming semester would resume in mid-January, and he'd have to hustle to find courses which weren't already filled.

Neal still needed to pack for the upcoming trip, but he offered to meet Kyle at Dorian's Coffeehouse. The hall where Neal's office was located was deserted this time of year with only minimal security. It wasn't that he thought the student had any nefarious purpose or was a member of the Starry Wisdom cult in disguise, but these days Neal couldn't afford to take any chances.

When he entered the coffeehouse, the only customers were some families who, judging by the number of shopping bags, had been hitting the after-Christmas sales. A folksinger accompanied herself on the guitar while singing Carole King ballads.

Neal picked up a cup of the brew of the day, an Ethiopian roast, and sat down to wait. His thoughts ricocheted between Sara, his childhood, and Tirelia, a common occurrence these days. A month ago, he'd wondered if he was being fair to her because of his precarious situation. Being a hybrid with the DNA of two alien species surely introduced too many unknowns. She'd convinced him it wasn't an issue, but just as he'd felt comfortable to move forward, reality doused their romantic flames with another bucket of ice water. Tirelia was a revelation. It might not have bothered the eight-year-old kid to converse with shantaks as if they were old friends, but his grown-up self was still staggered by the experience. He wouldn't soon forget how it felt to stare into the large amber eyes of the horse-sized birds and know instinctively they were his friends. And that made Neal wonder even more about himself.

The shantaks said he glowed and they'd seen others like him. Were those others Celaenians? Gideon told him Meropians had only rarely visited Tirelia and always in the company of Celaenians. But now the species existed only as pure energy. What implications did that have for him?

With every day that passed, Neal felt more alien. How much did it bother Lavinia and Gideon to hide their true nature? They'd never revealed what their species looked like, but were capable of changing their appearance seemingly at will. Was he in a sense doing the same, his skin masking an alien interior?

Neal put his gloomy thoughts on hold when a stranger opened the coffeehouse door. His straight, brown hair was cut on the short side. He had a tan which indicated he hadn't been living in the New England over the past several weeks. The man was dressed casually in jeans and a pea jacket. He could be Kyle although he was older than most students. Possibly he was attending college on the GI bill. What would he think of meeting a professor younger than he was?

Kyle seemed to know what Neal looked like. He didn't hesitate to stride directly over. There was an odd intensity in his eyes which made Neal glad there were others around.

He stood up, preparing to shake his hand. "Are you Kyle Jordan? I'm Neal Carter."

He broke into a grin. "I guess you're old enough to drink coffee now. It hasn't stunted your growth after all."

"Henry?" Neal gaped at him, dumbfounded.

"In the flesh, kiddo. I knew you hadn't changed much when you suggested we meet at a coffeehouse. I wonder if that singer knows how to sing 'Alley Oop'?"

The time they were in a diner fourteen years ago came back as a vivid snapshot. Henry danced to the tune playing on the jukebox. "Why the cloak-and-dagger routine? Couldn't you have told me who you are?"

"And miss your reaction? Hey, that was golden." Gesturing for the waitress, Henry called out for a beer. "You can put it on Neal's tab," he added.

"When did you arrive in town?"

"Late last night. It's my first time to Arkham. Quaint place you picked out for yourself. I went to the campus this morning, looking for you. Saw a guy skating with a cool-looking chick. That wouldn't have been you by any chance?"

"And you didn't come over?" Neal asked, exasperated.

"I wasn't positive it was you." He gave a sly smile. "Your skating's improved, but maybe it was because of the woman you were with. Are you two an item?"

A loaded question Neal had no intention of answering until he was more comfortable with this grown-up version of the twelve-year-old he remembered. "If you'd introduced yourself, I would have shown you this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the dragon keyring.

Henry took the dragon from him, chuckling softly. "You still have it after all those years."

It didn't seem that long ago to Neal—only a few weeks, not something he intended to mention. "I'm sorry it took me so long to contact you," he said instead. "It couldn't have been easy for you."

"The home wasn't bad," Henry said, waiting till the waitress set down the beer. "Mr. Jensen was decent. He cut me the slack I needed." His expression grew serious. "I imagine it wasn't easy for you either. When I got your letter, I did a little research. Found the newspaper article about you being discovered on the streets."

"You were checking to see if I really had amnesia."

He gave a careless shrug. "I've learned to be cautious. When Mozzie said goodbye to me, he told me about a future Spider-Man character. He said that when the character was revealed, I'd know he and Peter had actually traveled back from the future."

"Did it help?"

"Yeah, it got me through some rough spots. But I guessed that he and Peter weren't really Guardians of the Universe like in _Green Lantern_." He took a swig of beer. "And they're probably not aliens either?" He arched a brow at Neal.

He chuckled. "No, they're completely human."

"You, too, huh?"

"I'm not as blue as I was then," Neal hedged, making a joke of it.

"Or as sick." Henry hesitated for a moment. Neal held his breath waiting for his reaction.

"I'm glad they fixed you up," he said, letting the matter drop. "You still seeing invisible monsters?"

Henry looked relaxed but there was a guarded expression to his eyes. Neal had never explained the nature of the ghasts who'd been pursuing him, and this wasn't the time. He dismissed the idea with what he hoped was a carefree smile. "Not for a long while, I'm happy to report." Time was relative. The last ghast on Earth had been in October. That had been before he'd been abducted by Azathoth and sent back fourteen years in the past. Under the circumstances, it did seem like a long time since he'd seen one.

"You've done all right for yourself," Henry said. "A doctorate, a professorship at one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Once I knew what you were calling yourself, it wasn't hard to find you in the papers. An article about an archaeology discovery in France caught my eye. It mentioned you as well as Peter and Mozzie. I found your photos in the college catalog. I have an excellent memory for faces, and Peter and Mozzie haven't aged a bit. Were they involved in some top-secret government project?"

"Something like that." Neal was staggered at the amount of research Henry had done. Despite his casual manner, he was unexpectedly cautious. Did he think Neal was the same way? Perhaps he believed Neal showed him the dragon to prove who he was. "That newspaper article about France was written by Sara Pabodie, the woman I was with this morning." Perhaps if he was more forthcoming, Henry would be as well. So far Henry had revealed virtually nothing about himself.

"And you found your dad?" Henry asked. "Is Carter your real surname?"

"When I was found in Arkham, there was a tag on me which gave my name and date of birth," Neal said, sidestepping a direct answer. He'd never seen his birth certificate and didn't know if he'd ever had one. "My father had already passed. What about you? Where do you live? Are you married?"

"Do I have a family and a house with a white picket fence?" Henry chuckled. "That's not my style, kiddo. I'm in finance and acquisitions."

"Impressive."

"Don't be fooled. It's not as glamorous as it sounds."

"Your post box is in the Netherlands," Neal prompted.

"I don't live there though. I'm on the road most of the time. When I got your letter, I decided to stop on my way to see a client, but I'll fly out this evening."

"So soon?" Neal asked, dismayed. "Peter and Mozzie would love to see you."

Henry dismissed the thought with a shrug. "Sorry but I'll need to leave in a few minutes. Give them my regards. Perhaps on my return trip, I can schedule something. That will be in a week or so."

"We'll probably be away till mid-January. We're leaving for Egypt tomorrow."

He raised his eyebrows. "For a professor, you get around. Does this have anything to do with that top secret project?"

"You know Peter's an archaeologist," Neal said, not answering him directly. "This is an expedition to one of his digs."

"And he's taking along a linguist and an astrophysicist? Are you Guardians of the Universe, after all?"

Neal faked a snicker. "That'd be too fantastic to be believed."

Henry eyed him thoughtfully. "Mozzie said I was in training to be one, too."

"If you have any interest in the job, let me know," Neal said, going so far out on a limb that it was cracking underneath him. He made it sound like a joke, and maybe it was. Henry was already settled in a lucrative career. He wouldn't want to move to Arkham. The others would think Neal was insane to consider bringing a stranger into the group. But Neal was playing a hunch, and the only thing certain was that he didn't want Henry to drop out of his life again.

"Are you confusing me with that drawing you made of me as a superhero?" As expected, he didn't take Neal's remark seriously. That should be a good thing, but Neal was left feeling more disappointed than he should have been.

Henry drained his glass. "I still have that drawing, by the way. If I ever decide to put on my cape, I'll let you know." Was he trying to soften the blow, or was that an added signal to prove he hadn't forgotten?

Henry shoved his chair away from the table and stood up. "It was good catching up, but I should leave. I have a plane to catch in Boston."

"You'll keep in touch, right?"

Henry nodded. "I have your address. That P.O. box still works for me." After a moment's hesitation, he reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and took out a notepad. "You can leave a message with an answering service here," he added, jotting down some numbers. He tore off the sheet and gave it to Neal. "Let me know where your travels take you. Someday our paths may cross again."

And with that Henry walked out of his life. Was his vague talk of another reunion only meant to squelch any entreaties to stay longer? He'd been secretive about his own life but he went to considerable length to research Neal's. If Henry had some nefarious scheme in mind, he wouldn't have told Neal what he'd done. Was the disclosure a veiled warning not to do the same thing on him? Neal was left with the depressing realization that Henry's life was shut behind a sealed door just like Tirelia.

Neal had gone with Peter and Mozzie to check if the portal to Tirelia was still open. He was convinced he found the correct spot, but there was no trace of an entrance into the cave—no shimmer to indicate it had ever existed. Mozzie tried to put a positive spin to it, saying this was further confirmation that the Celaenians engaged in time travel. They'd gone back in time to mark the cave and had led Neal to the entrance when he was a child. Perhaps someday he'd be able to access it again. But until then, he could only dream about it. Was reconnecting with Henry destined for the same fate?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC **

Henry's appearance shoved aside discussion of Abydos during the limousine ride to the airport. After Neal called with the news, Peter was left with more questions than answers. Henry had researched the three of them and then stayed for only one brief conversation. That simply didn't add up.

"Perhaps he works for the CIA or the NSA," Neal suggested. "He was able to find that old newspaper account about me from fourteen years ago. He located the article Sara wrote about the discoveries in Lyon. I can't picture Henry being the type to dig through stacks of newspapers and magazines. He must have connections he can call on."

Mozzie nudged his glasses higher on his nose. "You could be right. When we visited the home, Mr. Jensen mentioned Henry excelled at outdoors sports when he was in the Scouts. He learned how to shoot and hunt. Supposedly he excelled at rock climbing. His tan indicates that whatever he does, he must spend a lot of time outside. Henry could work for a secret government organization, like the Impossible Missions Force."

Peter snorted. "You do realize that's a fictional group?

"I grant you the producers have taken creative license. Frankly, I'm surprised the government allowed them to produce a TV-series which was so close to reality."

Neal broke into a laugh. "I'm trying to picture Henry as Martin Landau or Leonard Nimoy. It's a role he'd love. I agree with your premise though. There's no way he would have wound up sitting behind a desk. Finance and acquisitions could be anything."

Peter was glad to see the direction Neal was taking. It gave him the opening he'd been waiting for. "For all we know, he's a bank robber or a thief. The fact he's so cautious could be because he's wanted by the law." Neal's huff didn't deter him from the point he was trying to make. "You admitted that Henry was a pickpocket when you knew him as a child. Don't try to turn him into some kind of cloak-and-dagger secret agent."

Neal frowned but he didn't challenge Peter's view. He surely must have worried about the same thing.

Peter didn't fault him for how he'd handled the meeting. Neal hadn't disclosed anything about their current status or the purpose of their trip to Egypt. Explaining that they were heading to Abydos to try to track down an alien crystal needed to power what appeared to be a Renaissance armillary sphere but was actually an immensely powerful alien device would have taken more than a few cups of coffee.

Neal had told Henry that Peter and Mozzie were human, but he hadn't disclosed his own hybrid status. Did Henry guess the truth?

The two had both been cautious. Henry's mention of "Alley Oop" may have been designed to reassure Neal of his identity. Whatever line of work he was in, Henry was sharp. He realized that Peter and Mozzie looked the same as when he'd met them over a decade ago, but he hadn't pried. Mozzie might take pride in Henry's guess they were working on a top-secret government project, but for Peter that was too close to the truth for comfort.

Still, he was glad for Neal's sake that Henry had come to Arkham. Once the initial euphoria of returning to the present had worn off, Neal had become distant and withdrawn. El said it was a natural reaction as Neal worked through his grief over the loss of his family. Peter had hoped that Sara would be able to snap him out of his mood, but the ghost of Kate may have placed a damper on their reunion. It was fortunate Sara had been a friend of Kate's and was familiar with the circumstances of her death.

Neal had insisted on not postponing the trip. He recognized he needed to keep busy. From that sense, speculating about Henry was the tonic he needed.

Peter decided to hold off telling him about the call he'd placed to Diana last night. The police detective promised to look into Henry Chaseman, the name Henry had used in his correspondence to Neal. Peter had warned her that the name was an alias. When Neal first knew him, he was Henry Elliot. As a teenager, he changed his surname to Parker. Chaseman was the alias Neal's grandfather had used. Now, Kyle Jordan was added to the list. Henry likely had several others in reserve.

Fortunately Neal hadn't told Henry where they'd be in Egypt. Until Peter knew much more about him, they all should keep their distance.

**Interpol Headquarters, Paris.**

On a Saturday, no one in Raquel Dubois's unit worked at the office. That meant there was no one around to overhear telephone conversations. It was the ideal time for her weekly call to Nigel Hastings. And if anyone did come in, they'd be impressed with her work ethic.

Not that they'd be wrong. She was totally devoted to her job. It just wasn't Interpol's. She and Nigel had spent the past several years on Earth. When Azathoth first ordered them here, she'd been thrilled at the honor he'd bestowed upon her. They were the vanguard, preparing the way for the return of the Ymar. The Starry Wisdom cult had been working toward their integration for years, sniffing out the proper vehicles for their insertion. Nigel quickly rose to the top of the _International Herald Tribune_ as their lead investigative journalist. With the resources he commanded, not to mention the force of his personality, his success was a foregone conclusion.

For Interpol, Raquel had chosen a different career path. She'd been pleasantly surprised at how powerful a tool sex was on Earth. For the chance to share her bed, her bosses had been only too ready to cater to her wishes. They were unaware of where her true affection lay.

Raquel glanced at the gold watch on her wrist. Nigel was due to call any moment. This phone call was especially urgent for just as everything appeared to be on track, roadblocks were springing up. She'd assumed Azathoth had an abundant supply of crystals with which to create wormholes, but she'd been mistaken. The cave in Asia upon which he depended was now completely depleted. He had a few in reserve on Tirelia but soon they'd be expended as well.

It was truly galling. A year ago, Azathoth had forged an alliance with the zoogs and now they had the means to turn any human into a robot for Azathoth by simply forcing them to drink moon-wine. But if they couldn't create wormholes, there'd be no way for ghasts and zoogs to enter Earth.

One misfortune attracted another. After agents recovered an ancient Celaenian device disguised as an armillary sphere, it had been stolen away right from within Azathoth's fortress. They were now in crisis mode.

The phone rang. "_Allo, Ici Raquel Dubois_."

"You can stop the pretense, my love." Nigel's cultured voice was a caress. "I assume it's safe to talk."

"On the Saturday after Christmas, there are only a couple of lonely security guards in the lobby."

"Good. I have news from Azathoth."

"Did he discover who stole the armillary sphere?"

"He suspects a Meropian sneaked onto Tirelia."

"A Meropian?" Raquel had heard of the species. Hundreds of years ago their planet had served as a testing ground for Azathoth. Even though he and his fellow Ymar were unable to enter Earth's galaxy, he'd developed a workaround strategy. The conquest of Merope was a success which served as a model for other worlds. "I didn't know any Meropians were still alive."

"A remnant was able to flee. It's believed they continue to exist somewhere in exile."

"How did they find out about the armillary sphere?"

"Our lord believes some may be living on Earth. You're aware they're shapeshifters."

Raquel was stunned. She'd assumed they were the only interlopers. The thought of other aliens living among them was a rude awakening. If aliens were providing assistance to the hybrid, that would explain why he'd managed to escape Azathoth's trap. Their lord had sent Neal back in time but before he could be dispatched to Tirelia, he'd disappeared and was now living as if the abduction had never happened. Neal's reintegration had occurred at approximately the same time the armillary sphere had been stolen from Azathoth's fortress. She and Nigel had speculated that the instrument was what provided the mechanism for time travel.

"If there is a Meropian presence on Earth, it's likely centered in Arkham where Neal is," Nigel continued.

"Should we search for the armillary sphere there?"

"Azathoth already had the matter investigated. The instrument was traced to Arkham but now has vanished. My personal view is that the Meropians took it back to their command center. It's much too powerful for them to store it on Earth. For the moment, our lord wants us to hold off on Arkham. No one suspects us, and that needs to continue. Now that we're unable to send in ghasts, our resources are limited."

Nigel's voice indicated no hint of panic or distress. That indicated he already was working on another plan of attack. "Would you like me to approach Neal once more?" she asked.

"Not for the moment. His group will be on the lookout for another attempt, and we can't risk exposure. Instead, I'll win Sara over. From what Chad told us, Neal is drawn to her. Once she's working for us, she should make a superb informant."

Raquel was glad he couldn't see any disappointment on her face. She'd been looking forward to seducing Neal, and perhaps she still would. "Sara isn't particularly attracted to Neal. From what I witnessed in Lyon, she didn't want to have anything to do with him."

"That's probably why there's been so little contact," he said. "I've been monitoring her calls and she hasn't made any to him either from the office or her flat. There haven't been any letters either. Her isolation makes her even more vulnerable. "

"Do you have any orders for me?"

"Yes, check on the situation in Morocco. There are rumors of an Elnath cave in the region. Find out if the cult knows anything about it. Until we find more crystals, our expansion plans are on hold. I've already ordered the chapters to abstain from moon-tree wine till the supply is replenished."

_Good luck with that_. The wine was so addictive, cult members wouldn't easily be weaned off. For untold centuries the cult had been preparing Earth for the day of Azathoth's return. If crystals couldn't be found, all their work could be for naught. Morocco was one of the most ancient cult centers. Perhaps it would provide the solution.

* * *

Notes: Welcome back to Arkham! If this is your first visit, you may wish to check out the resources on the [ Arkham Files ](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/p/arkham-files.html) page of our blog. Sands of Abydos has 4 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday. Thanks to Penna Nomen for digging in Egyptian sands with me while providing beta help.

I posted this chapter on October 23, a significant day for fans of White Collar. Exactly ten years ago, White Collar premiered in the States. The pilot is one of my favorite episodes. Both Penna and I have referenced many of its scenes in our stories. My blog post this week, "[Happy Anniversary to White Collar](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2019/10/happy-anniversary-to-white-collar.html)," is about that episode. In Penna's post, she wrote about the writing conference she just attended. The title is " [ An Introvert at a Writing Conference ](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2019/10/an-introvert-at-writing-conference.html) ."

Our White Collar celebration has been tempered by the recent passing of Diahann Carroll. Her portrayal of June made her one of the most beloved characters in White Collar. Penna and I have delighted in expanding June's role in Caffrey Conversation. Penna has written many wonderful scenes, first featuring June and Byron (Choirboy Caffrey, In the Driver's Seat, By the Book), then Byron's funeral (Caffrey Flashback), and later June assuming new responsibilities on the board of Masterson Music (Caffrey Disclosure). In my stories, I was particularly thrilled to feature Diahann's success as a nightclub singer in An Evening with Genji when Neal takes June back to a club where she'd performed in the '60s. Now June is helping Diana with Arkham Files by acting as her beta and hosting the meetings of the Arkham Round Table. As our stories continue, we plan to continue expanding her role.

A private joke June injected into Arkham Files is that her character is a fabulous cook. New York June spends as little time as possible in the kitchen. If you'd like to try Arkham June's mocha voodoo, the recipe is on the Splendid Table website: [splendidtable.org/recipes/mocha-voodoo ](https://www.splendidtable.org/recipes/mocha-voodoo)

For those new to Arkham Files: FBI Agent Diana Berrigan began writing Arkham Files fics as part of a strategy to capture a cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth. She is now sharing writing duties with Mozzie. Most of the characters are drawn from the world of White Collar and retain their same given names. Events and characters in Arkham Files are sometimes referenced in the Caffrey Conversation stories and have an impact on plot development.

Penna Nomen created the Caffrey Conversation AU and is the head muse for our series.

Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Sands of Abydos board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website: [pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)


	2. Express Pass

**Abydos, Egypt. Monday, December 29, 1975.**

Neal stopped to study the Great Temple of Abydos as the sun rose over the Nile. The bleached sandstone columns were a stark contrast to the sky which was painted in pastel washes of coral, pink, and azure.

Peter and Mozzie had already left their rented Jeep and were heading toward the massive complex, but Neal hung back. The pylons of the memorial to Pharaoh Seti I loomed before him. The reliefs waiting to be viewed should be calling to him, but they weren't what filled his thoughts.

Peter retraced his footsteps to stand beside him. "I haven't forgotten the significance of today. Do you want to talk or would you prefer some time alone?"

Neal hesitated, not sure what he wanted, but he was glad Peter was there. That time whiplash as Sara called it was still doing a number on him. "I should think about the happy moments Kate and I shared, not about what happened a year ago."

"You shouldn't fault yourself for grieving her loss," Peter said quietly. "I miss her too. She was one of my best students. She had a bright future ahead of her as an archaeologist."

"Kate thought highly of you, as well. She would have rejoiced at the thought of us working in Egypt together."

The atmosphere of the site was affecting him more than he'd first realized. In his mind's eye, he could see the procession following the coffin of the pharaoh to his final resting place. Cries of birds mingled with the laments of the mourners. Priests wearing masks of the gods chanted at the entrance to the tomb. Jackal-headed Anubis strode forth to greet the procession. Neal felt a burning in his chest.

"Time is of the essence!" Mozzie called out, motioning them forward. He'd retraced his steps but Neal still found himself rooted to the spot.

"The necropolis isn't only the city of the dead," Peter reminded him. "It's a place of rebirth. You don't have to worry about any ghosts."

Easy for him to say, but Neal shoved aside his gloomy thoughts. He'd dreamed of being in Egypt since he was a kid. He now had the opportunity to discover the reason why. He couldn't squander it.

They'd arrived the previous day at their hotel in Luxor and spent the rest of daylight visiting the ruins of Thebes. It was Neal's first trip to Egypt. He could have spent a month simply exploring the archaeological splendors of that ancient capital. Peter and Mozzie were wearing their language amulets. It was their first chance to try them out on Earth. Peter already spoke some Arabic, but now he was speaking it like a native. The amulets also served as a reminder. They weren't here to be tourists. They hoped to find in Abydos a celaenite crystal similar to the one powering Azathoth's apparatus in his fortress atop Kadath in the northern mountains of Tirelia.

They went to bed early and left in the middle of the night for the three-hour drive to Abydos. By arriving at the first morning light, they'd be able to take advantage of the relative coolness.

They were all wearing lightweight khakis and hiking boots. They'd brought along only a small amount of equipment for this first exploratory trip. One of Peter's colleagues was working on an Old Kingdom tomb in the necropolis. Peter was confident that if they needed tools and helpers, they could make the arrangements through his friend. But before they ventured into the area of the cliffs, Peter wanted them to see the Temple of Seti I on the outskirts of the city.

"A second temple is a half-mile north of here," Peter explained as they walked up the broad ramp. "The ruins have not been as well preserved, but it was formerly just as grand. It was a temple devoted to the cult of Osiris and Isis."

"Which is nothing like the cult of Starry Wisdom," Mozzie prompted.

Peter took a slow breath. "Let's hope not."

"But it's possible," Neal said, feeling obligated to point it out. "The _Book of Azathoth_ which we examined in that boarded-up house in Arkham contained signatures of cult members written in the cursive form of ancient Egyptian."

"Neal makes an excellent point," Mozzie said. "If the cult of Osiris existed at the same time as Starry Wisdom, there could be a link between the two. What's the scoop on Osiris?"

"He's the god of rebirth," Peter explained. "He's also considered the ruler of the dead and is usually depicted with green skin."

Mozzie nudged Neal. "To symbolize his alien nature."

Peter snorted. "Hardly. Green is the color of rebirth. Proponents of ancient aliens have latched onto his consort instead. She has more magical ability than any of the other gods. She became a major figure of worship during the Roman era."

"Shouldn't we count ourselves among those theorists?" Mozzie challenged. "The Starry Wisdom cult existed in ancient Egypt. Deities are pictured with animal heads, perhaps indicating they're shapeshifters."

Peter rumbled his unhappiness with Mozzie's line of reasoning, but he couldn't deny the validity of the argument. They'd seen Egyptian-style architecture on Tirelia. The Ymar could have introduced the style on both Earth and Tirelia.

As they walked through the lofty hypostyle hall, it was difficult not to believe the spirits of ancient Egyptians were still present. Neal had the eerie sensation he could hear their whispers as he read the hieroglyphs. Most of the colors of the hall had vanished long ago, leaving behind monotone inscriptions and reliefs.

His thoughts spun back to the cave in Freemont State Forest. The shimmering colors of the portal to Tirelia had disappeared as well. The world which he could picture so vividly in his mind was now inaccessible. With no hieroglyphs to read, he was left with only memories of what had been lost.

"I assume our destination is the astronomical ceiling," Mozzie prompted.

"I figured for a cosmologist, that would be your first wish," Peter said with a tolerant smile. "It's in the burial chamber. Follow me."

Neal had read about the ceiling, but the photos he'd seen hadn't done justice to the midnight-blue vault which was adorned with stars and constellations enclosed in animal outlines. While Peter and Mozzie discussed the significance of the star clock depicted in bands on the ceiling, he was more interested in studying the hieroglyphs.

"Many scientists besides us have theorized the ancient Egyptians had contact with extraterrestrials," Mozzie said.

"And most of their theories are easily dismissed," Peter declared. "The first evening we met in Neal's loft, you tried to convince me that the pyramid texts proved that ancient Egyptians were familiar with wormholes."

"I can be remarkably prescient," Mozzie said complacently. "As you no doubt recall, that was before we'd heard about the Elnath and the Ymar. The question is did the Egyptians learn from the Ymar or did the Ymar copy them?"

"Perhaps it was neither," Neal suggested. "The pylons could be from the Elnath. Lavinia said the Ymar usurped their use of starfish imagery and script. The same could be true for their architecture."

"I don't dismiss the possibility," Peter acknowledged, "but until there's concrete evidence, you won't see me including it in any paper."

"It already exists," Mozzie argued. "Surely you've heard of the helicopter hieroglyphs."

Peter's snort echoed in the vaulted space. "I hope you don't actually believe the ancient Egyptians depicted helicopters and alien technology."

"You have to admit the resemblance is striking," Mozzie countered.

"We can't leave without showing them to him," Neal said. Mozzie had a knack for shaking him out of his moodiness. The low-pitched murmur of ancient Egyptian quickly faded as he considered the hieroglyphs in question. He'd written an essay about them when he was studying at Oxford. "The initial hieroglyphs had been covered over in plaster and rewritten. Some of the plaster has flaked off, leaving partial glyphs superimposed over others. No helicopters, I'm afraid."

"That's one explanation," Mozzie retorted. "I prefer mine."

"Just like when you see the jackal-headed god Anubis, you suspect there's a ghast lurking inside?" Peter teased.

"Exactly," he said smugly. "Gentlemen, be wary of gods wearing masks."

Peter led them on a quick tour of the temple complex which included small chapels devoted to various gods as well as the Osireion, a subterranean structure partially filled with water.

"The prevailing theory is that the Osireion was the symbolic tomb of Osiris," Peter said. "It was built around a native spring to supply water. The ancient Egyptians believed that water represented both life and the underworld. The roof is now missing but fragmentary designs indicate there may have been constellations on the ceiling like in Seti's temple." Peter turned to Mozzie. "Some theorists—the ones who believe in alien astronauts—have argued that the Osireion was built many thousands of years earlier than Seti's temple, perhaps as far back as 8,000 BC. Some even believe there is another subterranean chamber buried beneath it."

"And now we can't just dismiss it as a quack notion," Mozzie argued. "Lavinia told us the Ymar were active on Earth for over three thousand years beginning in 9,000 BC. I, for one, would not want to make any assumptions about what they were capable of. The Osireion could have been constructed based on their design."

The debate continued even after they left the temple to drive toward the plain west of the city. Neal didn't attempt to advocate either side, but their discussion helped him focus on the upcoming test, and that would be on him. He was the one who'd dreamed of an ancient altar surrounded by the cliffs of the necropolis. When he was a boy, he'd drawn a shining crystal on the altar. It was now up to him to find it.

Those childhood dreams were recent memories now, another unintentional gift from Azathoth. Gideon and Lavinia believed that the Celaenians had planted them in his head to spur him to this moment. Was that why over the past week he'd started dreaming of Abydos once more? More likely, it was simply that he was fixated on it. He'd also been dreaming of Tirelia, but he was sure that wasn't intentional. With the portal blocked, he wouldn't be going back there anytime soon.

When they'd been in Lyon, the winged serpent had given him instructions to seek a celaenite crystal in Abydos. It was undoubtedly the same crystal he'd seen in his dreams. That serpent had guided him to the wormhole leading him to Tirelia. Would the messenger reappear on the desert sands of Abydos? How else would he find the crystal?

When they arrived at the necropolis, the towering cliffs evoked the ancient pylons of the temple they'd just visited. A few pockmarks indicated Old Kingdom tombs. The blazing sun had desaturated the colors of the rocks and sand to shades of tan and gray.

In Neal's dreams, there'd been an ancient altar at approximately this location. Along with the crystal, a soapstone starfish was also on the altar. Was it the same starfish that Peter had discovered in a tomb in the necropolis and was now carefully protected in his work bag? What would have seemed unbelievable now appeared to be the most likely explanation. Gideon had admitted he'd planted the starfish in a predynastic tomb at Abydos then funded an excavation to the site so that Peter could discover it. Celaenians could have guided both men's actions. When you exist as sentient energy, anything is possible. 

"We're at our target location," Mozzie said, scanning the desert, his hands on his hips. "What now? Do we wait for another winged serpent?"

"The manuscript simply instructed me to go to Abydos," Neal reminded him. "It didn't provide any other details."

"A guide would be helpful," Peter said, stating the obvious, "even if you're the only one who can see it. The winged serpent provided you with an explanation of the powers of the armillary sphere. It directed you to the portal to Tirelia. Third time's a charm?"

Neal gouged the sand with the toe of his boot. There wasn't a trace of ruins on the desert plain. Unless the altar magically appeared, they were faced with what could be a monumental excavation effort. The Great Sphinx had been buried in sand up to its shoulders by the time of the New Kingdom. The altar Neal had seen was made of granite and had been surrounded by five tall sandstone columns with lotus blocks. Based on the drawing he'd made, Peter said the columns were in the style of the Old Kingdom, the same period as the Sphinx. If the altar hadn't been demolished, it could now be buried deep beneath the sand. And even if they were somehow successful in excavating the altar, the odds of a crystal being found with it were astronomically slim.

It was now late morning. The sun caused the scorched sand to sparkle but not with the rainbow iridescence he'd learned to associate with the winged serpent. The brightness brought tears to his eyes despite the sunglasses he was wearing. His enhanced vision had turned into a curse.

Neal focused his thoughts inward. He breathed in the desert air, steeling himself against the desiccating heat which parched his throat. Any celaenite crystal would be rich in algolnium. He should be able to sense it. As he scanned the landscape, the dunes blurred, mingling with scenes of ancient charioteers riding across the desert. Ancient reliefs came to life in vivid colors. The cliffs dissolved into pylons of temples vaster than he'd ever imagined. In the background, he heard the murmur of Peter and Mozzie, but he tuned them out.

The mirage of ancient temples faded, but the cliffs continued to beckon to him. Neal focused on the rock face. The cave portal to Tirelia shimmered in colors only he could detect. Like the winged serpent, the shimmer appeared to be a sign of Celaenian involvement. The aliens had once possessed physical bodies. Perhaps they'd appeared similar to the serpent.

Neal stopped in his tracks and whipped out his binoculars.

"See something?" Mozzie asked eagerly.

He nodded and pointed to the base of the cliff. "It's glittering just like the cave entrance on Tirelia."

"Get back in the Jeep!" Peter ordered excitedly. "We'll soon find out how close that resemblance is."

Neal directed Peter to drive to the base of the cliff directly underneath one of the tombs. An area roughly ten feet in diameter glinted with iridescent colors.

"Can it possibly be this simple?" Mozzie asked, sounding disappointed. "We go into the cave, grab the crystal, and then scram?"

"Would you rather us be cast into a turbid sea of grotesque monsters like the abyss Neal dreamed about?" Peter challenged.

"Perhaps not," Mozzie admitted. "In any case, that won't happen, right?"

"Sorry, I make no predictions," Neal said. "Gideon admitted the abyss was something he added when he planted the memory. He'd heard of similar seas in regions controlled by the Ymar and wanted to test my reaction."

"He was wise to do so," Peter said. "When you were pulled into the wormhole in the church of St. Jude, that's what you encountered. It could happen again."

Neal didn't need the reminder, but he had the feeling that whatever was inside was likely not anything they'd experienced before.

When Peter turned off the ignition, they debated over what to take with them inside the cave. In the end, they opted for a small kit of digging tools, flashlights, rope, and the starfish. The gear fitted easily into one work bag. The Celaenians had guided them to this spot. If specialized equipment was needed, Neal was convinced their invisible allies would provide them. 

The last time they'd used a Celaenian portal, the only way Mozzie and Peter could get through was by holding onto Neal. They assumed this one would be similarly restricted.

Neal tested the opening by pressing into the void with his hand. The air inside felt cool compared to the heat of the desert, but the rock face itself remained opaque. "Perhaps I should go inside first," he suggested. "I'll come back for you afterward."

Peter grasped his arm. "That's not happening. If it's not safe, you shouldn't be alone. We're going in together."

Mozzie clasped his other arm. "Full speed ahead to our new adventure!"

"Stand close to me," Neal warned. "The opening's not very wide." Together they strode through the shimmering curtain. The cave acted as an antechamber with the exit—another shimmering curtain—only a few paces away. The cave appeared to be a natural formation. Peter whipped out his flashlight. The curtain ahead provided sufficient light for Neal, but the cave would seem pitch black to the others.

"This must be what it feels like to be in a tomb," Peter said, swiping a hand over his forehead. "Good thing I'm not claustrophobic. You okay, Mozzie?"

"I'll manage," he said. "Neal, tell me you can see another portal ahead."

"And not only that but writing next to it," he assured them. "There's a band of Celaenian script, glowing as brightly as the curtain."

"Aliens have all the luck," Mozzie grumbled. "I can see neither."

"I'm in the same boat," Peter said, retrieving a flashlight and switching it on. "What does it say?"

"Just like in Lyon, the Celaenians provided us a clue. The message says that the crystal can be found in the Osireion, and I'll be able to tell when I'm close."

"The Osireion?" Peter repeated. "That's the subterranean tomb we visited at Seti's Temple. In your dream, you were in the middle of the desert."

"Perhaps that's a symbolic representation," Neal suggested. "You mentioned that the ceiling of the Osireion might once have been covered with stars and constellations like in the temple."

"An excellent theory," Mozzie declared. "There may be a niche in one of the walls which holds the crystal. All right, team, about-face. We have our marching orders. We'll return to the temple and commence exploration."

"That sounds good to me," Peter said. "Neal may be able to see a portal, but this cave feels too much like a sealed tomb for comfort. I assume there's no other writing or diagrams?"

Neal turned around to check and stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked sharply.

"I'm glad we brought our equipment with us. Our entry point is gone."

"Gone? What do you mean by that?" Mozzie demanded.

"It's not there," Neal said, his voice roughened by frustration and not a little unease. "There's only solid rock where the entrance was." If he'd gone in alone, he wouldn't have been able to return for his companions.

Mozzie exhaled slowly. "Message understood. Our Celaenian friends want us to go forward. The exit portal you see will no doubt take us to the Osireion. After we locate the crystal, we can rent a vehicle to return to the desert for the Jeep."

"That increases the urgency of examining this cave," Peter said. "Once we leave, we may not be able to return. If there are any additional clues to be discovered, now's the time."

All three of them scanned every inch of the chamber, but the only writing was the Celaenian inscription Neal had initially spotted. There was no evidence that ancient Egyptians had ever visited the cave. The confined spaced was starting to affect Neal. The air smelled stale and unhealthy. It was as if the cave itself was prodding them to leave.

"Okay, I'm satisfied," Peter said at last. "It's time to rejoin the living." He switched off his flashlight and returned it to the bag.

When they were ready, Neal grasped their hands and strode through the portal.

"Toto, we're no longer in Kansas," Mozzie murmured.

But where were they? They'd emerged next to a clump of palms and papyrus near a river, probably the Nile. Boats plied the water, but these were no modern motorboats. A scene from ancient Egypt had come to life with oarsmen wearing white kilts maneuvering long craft which looked remarkably similar to boats in wall paintings from ancient tombs. Was he having yet another vision?

"Is that you, Neal?"

Peter's shocked voice startled him. "Of course, it's me." He turned to look at Peter and dropped the hand he'd been grasping as if it were molten metal.

Standing next to him was an Egyptian in a linen kilt with a shaved head. On Neal's other side, Mozzie had also been replaced by an Egyptian.

"Easy, there." The man sounded remarkably like Peter as he clasped Neal's now naked shoulder. "It's me. We've all been transformed."

"And I have even less hair than before," Mozzie commented, stroking the side of his head. "On the plus side, my vision is excellent even though I'm not wearing glasses. All in all, not a bad tradeoff."

At their familiar voices, Neal was forced to conclude he wasn't dreaming . . . probably.

He cautiously probed his own scalp. He still had hair, roughly chin length, but it felt coarse and straight. His skin was much darker. He was wearing a kilt of fine linen like the others and had leather sandals on his feet. His amulet was hidden underneath a large gold pectoral incised with a falcon. Mozzie and Peter's language amulets were similarly concealed. A light breeze filtered through the thin linen fabric, making him feel exposed to the world.

"The Celaenians thought of everything," Peter said, pointing to the hemp bag slung over his shoulder. He opened it and found all their supplies which had formerly been in his work bag.

Mozzie shook his head admiringly. "What a marvelous species they are! They clearly realized we'd need to blend into society."

They could have been more forthcoming. Any species capable of turning them into Egyptians surely could have planted a message in his brain about what their intentions were. A guide to the crystal would also be nice. Neal postponed his complaints for another time. "Peter, care to speculate on what time period we're in?"

"Not yet," Peter admitted. "Clothing styles stayed remarkably stable throughout Egypt's long history. We're likely still in Abydos since you were instructed to go to the Osireion. That large building in the distance could be Seti's temple."

"We shouldn't be surprised by our metamorphosis," Mozzie said philosophically. "Celaenians have the ability to heal us in wormholes. Changing our appearance is likely no more difficult. They'd assigned Neal the task of locating the crystal. Now they've dressed us to succeed." He took a couple of steps. "Wearing a kilt is oddly liberating. Gentlemen, shall we proceed?"

Neal gave up trying to convince himself he was dreaming. Mozzie's comfortable chatter drilled the reality home.

"Before we leave, we should mark the portal location," Peter warned. "Neal, where is it?"

He turned around and his heart sank to his feet. They'd emerged facing the Nile, which meant the portal should be somewhere in the vegetation, but nowhere could he detect the telltale shimmer. "It's disappeared." He frantically scanned the grove of date palms for any trace of iridescence.

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Mozzie demanded. "Wormholes aren't supposed to do that, are they? At least, not yet."

Peter frowned. Neal still had a hard time believing it was the man he knew. He looked much more intimidating when he was bald.

"It's happened before," Peter said. "On the planet Merope, the wormhole also disappeared. We have a couple of miles to walk to that temple, assuming it's our location. Perhaps, the Celaenians will helpfully provide another portal close to the crystal."

That was probably only wishful thinking, but one challenge at a time. There was no point in speculating about how to leave till they'd achieved their objective.

The number of locals along the route increased as they approached the temple. The sand had been beaten to form a hard, pavement-like surface. Simple mudbrick structures were everywhere. Laughing children mingled with playful goats. Farmers led donkeys with baskets filled with produce. Many stopped to bow respectfully when they spotted Neal and his companions.

"They probably take Mozzie and me for priests," Peter explained in a whisper. "They may take you for a member of the nobility. Our garb and jewelry indicate our high status."

Up to now, Neal had only been able to estimate how the words were pronounced. The hieroglyphs came to life on that walk. Peter and Mozzie were also having no difficulty in understanding, thanks to their language amulets.

"Did you hear that?" Peter murmured. "The farmer was giving thanks to the Pharaoh Khufu for the bountiful harvest. You know what that means?"

Mozzie's eyes widened. "Didn't he build one of the pyramids?"

"Not just one of them—the Great Pyramid. He also may have built the Great Sphinx." Peter took a slow breath. "We're back in the Old Kingdom. Khufu reigned in the 26th century BC. That means the temple in front of us can't be Seti's. He lived thirteen hundred years later. Perhaps it's a temple to Osiris. Archaeologists have speculated a temple dedicated to that god could have existed as early as the Fourth Dynasty. We may be able to confirm it."

As they drew near the temple complex, its vivid colors became evident. Bright greens, oranges, and blues predominated. Every inch of the massive pylons was ablaze with color, the hieroglyphs as brilliant as the scenes.

"What I would give for a camera," Peter murmured.

Mozzie looked at him, aghast. "Disobey the Prime Directive? You'd bring the curse of the gods upon us."

Peter rolled his eyes. "The Prime Directive is in _Star Trek_. I have _not _signed up to be a member of the Federation. Besides, a little photography wouldn't interfere with the culture."

"You can't be sure. They'd spot the futuristic device and accuse us of being in league with Satan, or whoever is the Egyptian equivalent."

"There is no equivalent."

"Perhaps Set?" Neal suggested. "He dismembered Osiris."

Peter shook his head. "That may make him as evil as Azathoth, but it doesn't turn him into the devil with horns. Shouldn't we focus on the task at hand?"

An excellent suggestion but until they knew more, there was only so much they could do. The Osireion whose ruins they'd visited earlier in the day was from a much more recent period, but it could still be useful. If Seti's temple had been modeled on earlier versions, the Osireion would be approximately at the same location within the complex.

As they drew near the temple, the number of people diminished. Guards armed with staffs stood at both sides to the entrance were an unexpected complication.

"Will we be allowed to enter?" Neal asked.

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "Mozzie and I look like priests so that may help. If not, we may have to sneak our way in during the night."

"I've found a self-confident manner can work wonders," Mozzie confided. "For this situation, add a touch of haughtiness and we should be fine."

Easy for him to say. Neal had never looked intimidating. His department head accused him of being a pushover with his students and Peter had joined her in the criticism. Neal twisted his features into a glower.

"Neal, is the heat getting to you?" Peter asked, his brow furrowing. "You look a little off."

"Not haughty?"

"Don't be discouraged," Mozzie advised. "We can work with what you're good at. You could pretend to have a fainting spell, for instance. Your previous visions have made you an expert in the sensation. We'll then request you rest inside."

Peter chuckled. "That's the glower we want. Hold onto that."

They strode up the broad ramp. The pylon consisted of two tall tapering towers. They appeared to be built specifically to intimidate the masses. Based on his own experience, the early architects were successful. Neal had to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders. He had the eerie sensation that he was being watched. It was if there was an evil force lurking on top of the towers who was keeping track of every move he made.

Neal shook off the effect. That was nonsense. Perhaps it had been the intention of the pylon designers, but he couldn't let the atmospherics get to him. He'd seen enough mirages for one day.

Peter wanted Neal to act like a prince accompanied by his retinue. The son of the pharaoh has no need to fear anyone. Straightening his back, Neal strode a couple of steps ahead of his two "priests," attempting to radiate self-confidence.

As he approached the guards, they crossed their arms with locked fists, their spears held firmly in place next to their arms. "Hail, Baufra, son of Khufu! May your sandals tread upon sands of gold."

Neal blinked. He must be a better actor than he realized. How would a son of a pharaoh acknowledge the salutation? He gave a slight nod and marched quickly into the dim interior before they realized their error.

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim light after the brilliant sunshine. He and his companions were standing in a vast hypostyle hall. There weren't many others inside. One priest along a side passage appeared to be kneeling in prayer before the statue of Osiris.

"What do you know about Baufra?" he whispered to Peter. "Did the guard mean that literally?"

"Either you have a remarkable resemblance to a pharaoh's son or the Celaenians are playing mind tricks on them. There's next to no information about Baufra. He's mentioned as one of Khufu's sons but no artifacts belonging to him have been discovered."

"There are no hieroglyphs on our collars to indicate who we are."

"But the pectorals all display falcons with spread wings," Mozzie said. "That may be the designation of the house of Khufu."

"Good point," Neal said. "The hieroglyph for Khufu's name includes a falcon."

"And did you notice the hieroglyph on the guards' pectorals?" Peter asked. "It's the hieroglyph for Osiris, confirmation that the temple is dedicated to him."

They strode to the back of the hall as quickly as appeared seemly. Neal had to tear his eyes off the vivid reliefs on the columns to keep himself from gawking at them. From the way Peter's mouth was set, he was having just as difficult a time.

A thumping of drums shattered the quiet of the temple, causing them to freeze in their tracks. From a side gallery emerged four men dressed in the same garb as the guards in front. Behind them walked a woman. She was clad in a thin linen sheath with heavily embroidered straps and an elaborate pectoral collar inlaid with semi-precious stones. Her wig was surmounted by a tall dark crown.

"That must be the priestess of Isis," Peter murmured. "Her crown represents the hieroglyph for _throne_ which symbolizes her name."

The priests in the hall were all dropping to their knees. Peter and Mozzie did the same and after a moment's hesitation so did Neal. He had no idea if that was proper for the son of a pharaoh, but she represented a goddess, and that must trump him.

Neal kept his head lowered, hoping she'd simply pass through the hall on her way to another gallery. Approaching footsteps were a warning that luck wasn't with him. A minute later, her sandaled feet came into view directly in front of his lowered eyes.

"Rise and gaze upon me," she commanded. Two guards moved behind Neal to reinforce her order, shoving Peter and Mozzie aside.

Neal stood up and gazed unflinchingly at her. _Show no fear_ seemed like a good motto under the circumstances. She appeared to be in her late twenties. Her face was as emotionless as a mask but her eyes glittered like a cobra.

"What is your name?"

"Do you not recognize me?" Neal challenged, opting for a bluff.

She took two steps forward and placed her hand over his heart. It was a gesture dismayingly similar to what the high priest at the monastery of Leng had done. Neal fought back the panic, trying to make his expression as impassive as hers. Her touch felt cold on his skin but it wasn't unpleasant. Her perfume was making him a little lightheaded. It was a complex floral scent mingled with sandalwood. The fragrance seemed familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd smelled it before. Perhaps they'd passed someone else wearing it on the way to the temple.

"Come with me," she commanded. The guards formed a tight ring around him. Having a private chat with a goddess wasn't on his agenda, but he had no choice. Somehow he didn't think she was interested in a simple exchange of pleasantries.

* * *

_Notes: If Neal knew I posted this chapter on the day before Halloween, he'd be even more nervous. But Halloween isn't necessarily scary. For Wiccans, it's a harvest festival. The tradition of mumming or dressing in costumes dates back at least to the Middle Ages. I wrote about "[Halloween Magic](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2019/10/halloween-magic.html)" and its relation to Caffrey Conversation for the blog this week. There may be some additional Halloween magic coming your way in Chapter 3: Ancient Gods. _

_Penna's blog topic concerns "[Character Redemption Arcs](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2019/10/character-redemption-arcs.html)." Characters like to play trick-or-treat with us. They'll wear costumes to mask underlying traits which only reveal themselves after we thought we'd already outlined a satisfying arc for them. Klaus Mansfeld was one of those tricksters. Sounds like Penna has something similar going on with one of the characters in her upcoming novel, Prime Conditions._

_However you celebrate, wishing you a Happy Halloween from Penna and me as well as our assorted black cats, both real and fictional._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_   
_ Chapter Visuals and Music: The Sands of Abydos board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website: [pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_


	3. Ancient Gods

**Abydos, Egypt. Twenty-sixth Century BC.**

"We need a Plan B," muttered Mozzie in Peter's ear as they watched Neal being escorted out of the hall.

Truer words . . . They couldn't rely on the priestess having an innocent motive. She'd walked straight toward Neal as if she knew he was there. Had one of the guards notified her? Was there something else at play? Whatever it was, Neal needed to be extricated, fast. 

"Don't attract attention to ourselves," Peter murmured back. "We'll be less likely to be noticed if we're on the opposite side of the hall." Guards now protected the cedar door behind which Neal and the priestess had disappeared.

"We need to create a diversion to lure the guards away," Mozzie warned.

"But first we'll have to figure out a way to get the priestess to leave. You saw how she pressed her hand on Neal's chest."

Mozzie nodded. "Like the priest in Leng. She could be in league with the cult. I don't care how much perfume she's wearing. That woman is evil."

Ancient Egyptians loved perfumed unguents and were experts in their preparation. Perfumes were associated with the gods. The blend worn by the priestess was particularly cloying. It gave Peter a headache. He suspected Neal had an even stronger reaction since his senses were enhanced with alien DNA.

"What would make a priestess leave?" Mozzie mused, stroking his chin.

Peter's mind spun through options. "An order from the pharaoh should do the trick. Temples this size usually have multiple entrances. We could sneak out a back way, then approach the guards stationed at the entrance. They may not remember having seen us earlier."

Mozzie nodded. "We'll claim mighty Khufu demands her presence, and that they fetch her at once. Only one small problem. Why would the guards believe us?"

What would work? Peter mulled over the contents of his work bag.

"You've thought of something," Mozzie prompted. "What does that glint in your eyes indicate?"

Peter hesitated. The plan was crazy, but he didn't have anything better to propose. "It's time to abandon the Prime Directive," he said with a conviction he wished he actually felt. "If we shine a flashlight in their faces and command them to kneel before us, we may be able to bluff our way through it."

Mozzie let out a slow breath. "Better let me handle the light show while you issue the orders. Your growls are much more menacing than anything I could achieve."

"Let's hope they're as effective against guards as they are with students." They'd reached the side of the hall. There were a couple of small storage annexes. Peter pointed them out to Mozzie. "Are you feeling lucky? We may be able to find accessories to help sell our act."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The priestess led Neal into a spacious chamber. Small windows set high in the sandstone wall illuminated a square pool of water in the center of the room. The stone sides had been painted midnight blue which made the water appear to be the same color. The heady perfume worn by the priestess permeated the air. Neal saw two incense burners filled with hot coals. The incense was held in metal dishes over the coals. His nose itched from the oppressive atmosphere.

"Few are privileged to see my chamber," the priestess said. "You should feel honored." She nodded to the guards. "Strip him."

"If you value your life, you will release me this moment," Neal threatened, attempting to imitate the bluster of a wronged prince.

She strode forward and ripped her hand across his face, her long nails slashing gouges into his cheek. "Silence! Any future insolence will be met by the severest of reprisals."

Neal's skin burned. He could feel blood seeping down his face. Plainly, she wasn't in the least intimidated by Baufra, the son of Khufu, or did she know better? From now on, all she'd get was the silent treatment.

One burly guard seized his arms and tied them behind his back. Another removed his collar, exposing his amulet. Neal glanced down. The disk was beginning to glow. The only other times it had glowed were when ghasts were around. Was a ghast hidden in the priestess or one of the guards? On previous occasions, he could see their true appearance. This time he couldn't detect anything.

The guards had paused as they eyed the amulet nervously, but that wouldn't last. They'd rip it off his neck. He could lose it forever. As his panic mounted, he could feel the amulet growing warm. He snuck a glance downward and could see it was glowing even more brightly. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as if sparks would fly off. When the guard reached for the amulet, the air itself seemed charged with electricity.

"Stop!" the priestess ordered. "The prince comes with a present. That's meant for me." She strode forward and reached out her hand. The fingernails were stained with his blood.

She grasped the disk and screamed. Smoke rose from her skin as she flung her hand off and jumped back. The smell of scorched flesh mingling with her perfume in a noxious stench which made Neal's stomach turn. Holding her shaking hand by the wrist, she stared at her palm. It was branded with the sinuous outlines of the amulet's design.

"What kind of demon are you?" she demanded, her eyes a blazing mixture of fear and hatred.

_Just your average Celaenian-Meropian hybrid_. If he said anything, he'd only make it worse. He should be the one accusing her. Neal sagged against the guard, his legs trembling with weakness. Had she laid an enchantment on him? He would have collapsed on the floor if a guard hadn't held him upright. Any winged serpents hovering in the premises were welcome to appear.

A guard who was standing next to her raised his spear and centered the point on Neal's chest, an inch below the amulet. "Answer your priestess."

Neal felt the point pierce his skin, the sharp pain sending another wave of weakness through him. Blood dripped down his chest. He clamped his mouth shut as sweat started to run into the gouges on his cheek.

"Enough!" she ordered. "Tie him to a column. I'll decide his fate later."

The guards shoved him against a painted sandstone pillar and used ropes to bind him. They avoided his amulet and Neal began to breathe easier. Peter and Mozzie must be trying to rescue him. Any reprieve, no matter how short, would give them more of a chance.

The priestess withdrew to an alcove. There was no statue but a large turquoise faience bowl rested on top of a four-foot-tall pedestal of red granite. The woman bent low over the bowl and breathed onto it. Steam began to rise from it. An image flashed through Neal's mind. He'd witnessed a similar scene before. In the fortress atop Kadath on Tirelia, Azathoth had communicated with Earth by means of a basin.

Neal heard the faint sound of a wooden pipe. It appeared to come from the faience bowl. Was the priestess calling home?

A soldier entered the chamber, interrupting her. Unlike her guards who all bore collars with the hieroglyph of Isis, the new arrival displayed the hieroglyph for Osiris on his pectoral, the same as the guards at the front entrance. 

"Holy one, his majesty Khufu summons you to his presence."

She eyed him haughtily for a moment before answering. "I live to serve. I'll be there presently."

The guard bowed nervously. "I was informed you were to leave immediately." He hesitated, his face assuming an awe-struck expression. "The son of Ra blazed his radiance upon me. I must do his bidding."

The priestess narrowed her eyes at her words, her mouth settling into a scowl. She waved a hand over the bowl and the steam vanished.

Had Khufu come personally to the temple? Ra was the god of the sun. Son of Ra was commonly used to mean the pharaoh. Neal couldn't fathom the bit about radiance. Had he misinterpreted it? But any delay was welcome. Now if she'd just take her guards with her.

And against all odds, she did. The lady must be paranoid. Neal was left alone. This was his chance to escape, but his struggles against the ropes were futile. His strength had returned but they'd bound him as tight as a mummy. He quickly banished that unsettling thought. Never again would he watch Boris Karloff movies. His amulet was no longer glowing. He was alone with the basin and the pool of water. There was something about the pool that made him uneasy as if a monster lurked inside. He'd bet a pharaoh's chariot that wasn't ordinary water.

A few minutes after the priestess left, he heard voices coming from outside the chamber and the sound of stomping footsteps. Two priests strode in. One was wearing a full head mask of the crocodile god Sobek, the other wore a mask of Osiris. Sobek was carrying a lacquered wood chest.

Before Neal could agonize over what new torment awaited him, he noticed Sobek was carrying a flashlight. "Neal, it's us," Sobek-Mozzie whispered. "We got the guards to leave. They were dazzled by my magical Ra-wand." He waved his flashlight in the air while Osiris-Peter set to work on Neal's bounds.

"Get over here, Sobek, and help," Peter said, somehow managing to bark his order while keeping his voice low. "Your cheek must smart," he added under his breath. He lightly touched the wound where the lance point had punctured his skin. The blood had already formed a scab. "Any other injuries?"

"No, she was called away before she could get started. Was that you?"

"It was indeed," Mozzie said, untying his ankles. "A combination of Peter's growls and my Ra-gun convinced them we meant business."

As the ropes loosened, Neal yanked them off. "The priestess is connected somehow to the Ymar. I'll fill you in when it's safe. What's the plan? Are you going to lead me off?"

"Nothing so mundane," Mozzie said, opening the chest. He pulled a mask out and held it for Neal to see. "We're elevating you to god status."

Neal smiled at the mask they'd chosen. "Horus, the falcon god?"

"Yep," Peter said. "You get to play my son once more.'' He took the mask from Mozzie and slipped it carefully over his head. "I hope it doesn't irritate those claw marks."

"I'll manage. Do you see my collar?"

"Found it," Mozzie said.

"You better let me fasten it," Peter said. "There's a trick to these clasps."

"What's the plan?" Neal asked while Peter placed it in position.

"We found the entrance to the Osireion when we were searching for disguises," Mozzie said. "We'll march straight there. Clad in this gear, no one will question us."

And he was right. They strode purposefully along the center axis to their objective. Guards and visitors alike maintained a respectful distance. Many bowed their heads.

The entrance to the Osireion opened off the far wall. Inside was a large rectangular pool flanked by a wide border in red granite. Ramps led down to lower levels. The walls were as lavishly decorated as those in the temple. Neal paused to stare at the pool. Water was symbolic of the Nile, the source of both life and the underworld, but it held another more sinister significance. Unbidden, the memories of his journey through the abyss resurfaced, the bioluminescent monstrosities as vivid as when he first saw them. What was the connection between the priestess and the Ymar? Was Azathoth himself guiding her? What would have happened if he'd been tossed into the pool in her chamber?

He started when Peter placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you seeing anything in the water?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head, hoping to dislodge the scenes in his mind. "No, we should keep going." Were the Celaenians trying to warn him about something? Ever since he'd arrived in Egypt, the time whiplash had grown worse. It was if some entity inside him was feeding him images and scenes of other time periods. Was this part of the trial? Ever since he'd started dreaming about ancient Egypt as a boy, had he been experiencing one long test to evaluate worthiness? Not something he wanted to discuss with the others. There was nothing they could do about it. And there was nothing in the scenes to indicate where to search for the crystal. No shimmer. No serpent messenger.

Peter and Mozzie were probably looking at him hopefully for directions although he couldn't see their faces, but he had zilch to tell them.

"Any thoughts?" Peter prompted.

Neal frantically searched for an idea. They were at the top level. There was only one direction they could go. He pointed to the ramp leading down to the next level. "Since the priestess is linked to the Ymar, we should assume the Starry Wisdom cult is also established here. You said the temple could have built on the foundations of earlier temples. What if the first structure was constructed during the dominion of the Ymar?"

"Before the Celaenians arrived?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded. "That could correspond with the bottom level of the Osireion."

"Have you stopped to consider how the crystal wound up here?" Mozzie asked. "We know it was grown on Celaeno. Perhaps the Ymar stole it from the Celaenians during their protracted war. They may have hidden it so well that even though the Celaenians won the war, they didn't discover it."

"Then how would they have known to direct me here?" Neal objected.

"Perhaps something prevented them from accessing the location," Mozzie speculated. "For instance, they didn't have any starfish with them."

"Or the Celaenians could have only found out about the crystal much later," Peter suggested.

"There's another possibility," Neal said. "We know the Celaenians visited Earth periodically in the past. They'd meant the crystal to be used with the armillary sphere. Perhaps they traveled back in time and planted it here."

"I hope that's the case," Peter said. "It lessens the possibility of booby traps."

The walls of the lower levels consisted of massive unadorned sandstone blocks. With each level, the amount of light grew less. Neal felt like they were entering the bowels of the underworld.

Once they'd descended two ramps, they were at the lowest level and flush with the level of water. Neal carefully walked the perimeter, checking for any clue.

The only feature breaking up the uniformity of the blocks was a shrine to Osiris. A sunken relief of the god accompanied by Isis was carved into the wall. Did it conceal the crystal? If Mozzie's theory was right that the Ymar had hidden the crystal, his Celaenian amulet wouldn't be able to activate it, but something else might.

"Peter, take out your starfish," Neal said, excited over the possibility. "It could serve as a key. That may be why the Celaenians had me and Gramps dream about it."

Peter reached into his bag and pulled out the pouch containing the soapstone carving. Neal could sense the algolnium within the stone. The element no longer made him dizzy. If anything, he felt energized by it. The air around it felt electric.

"There are depressions in the throne of Osiris," Peter said. "Perhaps the starfish fits inside one of them." He slowly glided the stone over the surface of the relief. When he moved it over the seat of the throne, it snapped into place. With that, a sandstone block in the wall slowly ground sideways, revealing an opening about three feet high.

"It's unlocked a passage!" Mozzie murmured excitedly.

The tunnel was pitch-black. Peter placed the starfish back in his bag then shone his flashlight into the opening but it revealed nothing. "This could be an entrance into another area of the temple," he hazarded. "Perhaps symbolic of Osiris's trip into the underworld."

Not the most auspicious of omens. Were they heading straight into an Ymar trap? They'd know soon enough.

The dark tunnel gave no clue about its function or terminus. The light of their flashlights revealed it was made of sandstone blocks. The technology which unlocked the opening had to be alien in nature, most likely constructed by the Ymar. The tunnel itself was likely an artifact from the centuries when the Ymar ruled over Egypt . . . perhaps a shortcut to Azathoth himself. But the Celaenians had been the ones to instruct Neal to come here. If it were a trap, wouldn't they have warned him?

Peter insisted on entering the opening first. Neal followed close behind with Mozzie at his heels. They needed to crawl on their hands and knees to go inside. They must have made quite a sight with their masks still in place. Mozzie's crocodile mask was particularly forbidding. Crawling through a tunnel appeared to be his natural habitat.

The passage extended for only a few yards. Peter used his flashlight to scan ahead. "We're exiting into a chamber," he whispered. "It appears to be dimly lit. No signs of activity—human, ghast, or anything else."

He exited the tunnel. Neal scrambled out behind him. When Mozzie emerged, they took off their masks and gaped at the wonder before them. They were inside a dome with mudbricks forming a perfect vault overhead. The walls were only about ten feet high and had been painted with marsh scenes. Birds flew over colorful wetlands filled with fish, turtles, and crocodiles. The colors were so vivid, they looked like they'd just been applied.

The dome was painted midnight-blue. Constellations similar to the ones in Seti's tomb were painted in luminescent white paint. The stars appeared to glow brightly as if they had an internal power source. Once their eyes grew accustomed to the dim radiance, Peter and Mozzie had no need for flashlights.

And standing in the center of the chamber was the red granite altar Neal had pictured in his dreams. But no one would hear a victory cheer from him. The crystal was still nowhere to be seen.

Peter pointed out a relief carved into the wall next to the tunnel. "This appears to be identical to the first one. Let's see if it works the same." He fetched the starfish from his bag and hesitated. "If I insert the starfish, the opening will likely close on both sides, and we don't know if we'll be able to reopen it. Are you ready?"

"Do it," Neal said. "We can't take a chance on the priestess finding us."

Just as Peter predicted, they could hear the block of sandstone slide back into place. It was impossible to tell if it sealed the entrance at the far end of the tunnel, but they assumed so since the entrance into the vaulted chamber was open when they arrived.

"What I would give for some hieroglyphs," Peter muttered.

"We have something better," Neal said. "Look at the front of the altar. It's been inscribed." Carved into its surface were the images of Osiris, Isis, and Anubis. Underneath them was a line of Elnath script. Most closely resembling cuneiform, Neal had nicknamed it the tadpole script because the tails to the symbols were similarly curved. Gideon had told them the script had later been usurped by the Ymar.

"What does it say?" Peter asked.

"Call us by our true names," Neal quoted. "For here we establish our dominion."

"Traditionally, Egyptian triads include Osiris and Isis with their son Horus," Peter said, his brows knitting together.

"But we already know that this is no standard temple," Mozzie countered. "Not with an alien inscription."

"And notice how beside each image, symbols have been etched inside a cartouche as if they were names of pharaohs," Peter said. "Neal, can you read them?"

Neal nodded, speechless for a moment at the significance of what he was reading. "The first cartouche contains two names—Osiris and Azathoth. The cartouche for Isis is linked with Yidhra."

"And Anubis?" Mozzie prompted.

"Nyarlathotep."

"That's another name for the priest in the monastery of Leng, isn't it?" Mozzie asked uneasily.

Peter nodded. "According to the _Necronomicon_ he's also one of the Outer Gods, which we now know are what the author called the Ymar. Yidhra is one as well. She's the only Ymar who's represented as a female, but like Nyarlathotep and all the other Ymar, she's a shapeshifter." He exhaled slowly.

"I was right!" Mozzie said triumphantly. "I knew there was a connection between the Egyptian gods and the Ymar. What do you say now, Peter?"

He nodded slowly. "I asked for hard evidence, and here it is." He frowned. "And we have no means to document it. We also have to accept the necessary corollary. Not only is Egyptian mythology apparently based on Ymar teachings but the Starry Wisdom cult may predate what up to now scientists believed was the beginning of Egyptian civilization."

Mozzie walked around to the back of the altar. "Neal, didn't you descend a staircase in your dream?"

"I'm not likely to forget it," Neal said with a nod. "It led to an abyss filled with nightmarish creatures. Gideon later admitted he'd fabricated the monsters to test my readiness."

"Did he mention where he got the idea from?"

"No, why?"

"There's a stairway just behind the altar."

Neal and Peter quickly joined him. The staircase was narrow and steep. It was too dark to see anything beyond the first couple of steps.

Was this why he'd had the vision by the pool in the Osireion? The Celaenians were testing him just like Gideon had? Neal shoved the thought out of his mind. "We found our exit. We know there's no wormhole behind us. If we retrace our steps, we'll likely be captured by the priestess."

"Why are you so sure?" Peter asked.

"The Celaenians led us to the Osireion. They won't abandon us now." Placing his trust in invisible aliens was becoming easier by the moment, especially after his experience with the priestess. Perhaps that had been the Celaenians' objective all along.

Neal turned away from the aperture to examine the top surface of the altar. They had a crystal to find. Escape routes were for the moment a moot point.

A starfish-shaped depression was incised into the center of the altar. "The one you saw in your dream had all five of its arms," Peter said. "Mine has only one left. It worked to open the passage. Let's hope it does the trick again." He carefully placed the starfish into the setting.

The effect was as if they'd flicked a light switch. Immediately a beam of light shone from the starfish to the ceiling above.

Neal fixed his eyes on the starry vault. One of the stars began to drift down toward him. It blazed in the spotlight emanating from the starfish but floated gently downward as if it was no heavier than a feather. Neal held out his hand and the star nestled on his palm. "Go ahead and remove the starfish, Peter," he said softly. "It's done its job."

When the starfish was dislodged, the light beam disappeared, and they could all see what Neal already knew—a spherical crystal of celaenite resting on his hand. Roughly the size of a ping-pong ball, it sparkled with the fire of a thousand tiny facets cut into its surface.

"May I hold it?" Mozzie asked, and Neal placed it on his palm. "It's lighter than a sheet of paper!" he exclaimed, looking awe-struck as he weighed it in his hand. "A crystalline bubble of air yet amazingly solid."

Mozzie passed it to Peter who said, "It reminds me of the crystal manuscript before it was damaged."

"Let's hope Azathoth hasn't corrupted this crystal," Neal said. "When we return to Arkham, Pagna should be able to tell."

Peter pulled out a leather belt from his bag. Attached to the belt was a drawstring pouch. "I came equipped. You should carry it."

Neal inserted the crystal into the pouch then buckled the belt around his waist. "We'll probably never see this chamber again. I wish I'd brought drawing supplies."

Mozzie stared up at the ceiling. "I'm memorizing the constellations. You should as well. We'll compare notes when we return."

Peter retrieved a small chisel from his leather bag. "I'll take paint samples from the marsh scene. They'll enable me to date the murals."

They worked in silence for several minutes. The chamber could theoretically still exist, now buried underneath the modern town of Abydos. But local officials weren't likely to give their permission to demolish buildings to test the theory.

Neal paused when he heard a faint noise. It sounded like the sandstone block grinding open. "Do you hear that?" he whispered to Mozzie.

"I don't hear anything."

Neal took off his sandals and silently approached the tunnel.

"Voices," Neal murmured. "One's a woman." He wasn't surprised the others didn't hear. They were barely audible to him. "We have to leave. It sounds like they entered the tunnel." So far the entrance to the vault hadn't opened, but Neal didn't want to count on the priestess not having a way to open it.

Peter quickly added a few more samples. Mozzie was already moving to the staircase. Neal joined him and began uncoiling the rope. He was frustrated he couldn't explain to the others why he was so confident it was a portal. There was no shimmer. Was he associating it with the stairway he'd encountered in the abandoned church or was he simply clutching at straws?

If an abyss of some sort was waiting for them, he couldn't risk the others being lost. He tied one end of the rope around Mozzie's waist then looped and knotted it around himself. When Peter joined them, Neal used an extra length of the rope to tie his work bag tightly closed then cinched both Peter and the bag to himself. There was enough give in the makeshift harness that they could descend the stairs.

Peter eyed the mural longingly but they knew they couldn't delay. Neal led the way downstairs, using the flashlight to illuminate the path. After a few steps, they reached a landing of sorts where the stairs made a right-angle turn. The steps then descended into pitch-black water. Peter and Mozzie stood beside him, gazing apprehensively downward, but Neal was more concerned about the murmur of voices coming from behind them. He nodded to the others and pointed downward. Peter and Mozzie locked arms with him and they slipped into the water.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter must have lost consciousness immediately after stepping off the staircase for when he was once more aware of his surroundings, he was gazing up into the sky. He was flat on his back, stretched out on the sand and surrounded by the cliffs of Abydos. The sun was hanging low over the cliffs to the west.

"Welcome back," Neal said. He was crouched next to Peter, helping Mozzie sit up. They were once more in the khaki garments they'd worn before crossing into the ancient kingdom. Peter's familiar duffel bag with all his tools had replaced the hemp bag he'd carried earlier.

"I rather miss my kilt," Mozzie said, plucking the sleeve of his shirt. "These clothes are much hotter. Do you remember anything about the trip back?"

"Not once we entered the water," Peter said. "How about you, Neal?"

"I was awake, but experienced no ill effects . . . or saw any monsters. Within seconds we were back on the desert."

"Those gouges on your cheek are gone," Peter remarked. "How about the wound on your chest?"

Neal unbuttoned his shirt to feel his sternum. "Healed as well."

Suddenly Peter remembered the reason for the trip. "The crystal?"

Neal pointed to his belt. "Your accessory was added to my wardrobe." He loosened the drawstrings of the pouch and pulled it out. Even in the dimness of twilight, it shone with an inner radiance.

The jeep was in the same position where they'd left it, a confirmation they'd returned to the present time. They'd arrived close to the portal on the cliff face. Neal said the shimmer was no longer visible. If it hadn't been for the crystal and paint specimens, it would have been easy to believe they'd been the victims of a mass hallucination.

How many days had elapsed during their time in the temple? They'd grown to learn that time within wormholes was often distorted. During the drive to town, they discovered they'd spent only a little over a day in ancient Egypt. It was now the evening of December 30.

Peter had selected a simple motel in Abydos for their home base. The accommodations were spartan but the rooms were clean and the owner trustworthy. Peter and other archaeologists frequently stayed there during digs.

An unexpected visitor awaited them in the reception area—Gideon Talmadge. He told them he'd grown concerned when they hadn't checked in the previous night and had flown in earlier that day. Peter arranged with the innkeeper for food to be brought into his guest room so they could talk in privacy. The last meal they'd had was over a day ago.

They sat cross-legged on the kilim woven rug on the floor to enjoy a feast of kushari, fava bean stew, and pita bread. The kushari was fragrant with coriander and cumin. There were iced bottles of Egyptian wheat beer available in a cooler Peter had borrowed from the innkeeper. The tension of the past day dissipated as the ceiling fan whirled lazily overhead.

"The effect of your amulet on the priestess is particularly concerning," Gideon said. "I'd love to know the nature of her connection to Azathoth."

"She could be an early example of a Tirelian on Earth," Mozzie suggested.

"That seems the most likely," Gideon agreed. "Could you tell if she had any special abilities?"

"Nothing definite," Neal admitted. "Her perfume gave me a headache but that may have simply been an allergic reaction. Does Yidhra live on Tirelia with Azathoth?"

"I assume so," Gideon said. "There have been no reports on her since Abdul Alhazred wrote the _Necronomicon_. The Ymar can't use wormholes, but it's possible Tirelians are able to. Lavinia and I have also speculated about the ability of the Ymar to modify Tirelians."

Neal looked at him, startled. "You mean like Laban Shrewsbury and my grandfather were?"

"In a word, yes," he confirmed. "Celaenians injected your grandfather with their DNA. What if the Ymar are able to do something similar with Tirelians? If the amount were small enough, it might not prevent them from being able to use wormholes but would give them unknown powers." He grimaced. "There's no way to test the theory. Let us hope we don't have cause to reexamine the issue."

"The amulet didn't kill her but the way it branded her . . ." Peter's voice trailed off as he absently tore off a piece of pita bread and dipped it into the kushari. "Neal, your description of the weakness you experienced during the event made me wonder if the amulet was somehow draining you."

"Like a battery?" he asked, looking startled. "I'm glad no one else tried it."

"Lavinia and Pagna may have some theories," Gideon said. "I wouldn't be overly concerned about the experience. The priestess likely died thousands of years ago. You secured the crystal. That's a major accomplishment."

"We can fly home tomorrow," Peter suggested. "We may arrive in time for New Year's Eve."

Gideon shook his head. "Neal's never seen the pyramids. You shouldn't rush your departure."

"As the presumed son of Khufu, I really should see my father's monuments," Neal said with a chuckle. "But that can be on another trip. It's far more important to take the crystal to a safe location."

"There's no reason you can't do both," Gideon replied. "I'm flying back to Arkham tomorrow. I'll take it with me. We'll drive back to the Luxor airport and fly together to Cairo. Staying a night or two in Cairo won't be an issue. Your classes don't resume for another two weeks."

"Thanks, but Peter would probably much rather celebrate New Year's Eve with Elizabeth."

Gideon smiled. "Exactly my thoughts. That's why in a couple of hours she'll board a plane for Cairo." At Peter's exclamation, he added, "I'd intended for this to be a New Year's surprise. Your wife has known about it from the beginning. We assumed it would be a break from your excavation work. She'll be at the hotel waiting for you when you arrive. I've booked you into the Mena House."

"Say no more!" Peter exclaimed. "We accept!" The Mena House was a luxury hotel with magnificent views of the pyramids. "Neal, not only will you see the pyramids but the New Year's fireworks over them."

"The two of you should go," Mozzie said. "I've seen the pyramids, but I've never spent New Year's with Meropians, and there's a certain librarian I'd like to toast the New Year with."

Mozzie never discussed his budding relationship with Lavinia. Peter had speculated it was more on the order of a comfortable friendship, but perhaps he'd misjudged it.

They spent the rest of the evening and well into the night drawing and describing the sights they'd seen. He and Neal had carried sketchpads in their suitcases and they both worked to record as much as they could remember. Mozzie took charge of drawing the stars and constellations on the vaulted ceiling. The scientific community might not hear about what they'd witnessed for generations, but the documentation would be added to the vault at the university library where someday it would be available for scholars.

Neal's drawing of the priestess was especially vital. Peter wished he could believe they'd left her behind when they returned to the present, but until they understood her nature, there was no guarantee they wouldn't encounter her again.

* * *

_Notes: Neal has commented more than once on Peter's commanding presence, and in this chapter it was particularly handy. Peter's natural talent was undoubtedly enhanced by the time he spent in the military. Although in canon Peter wasn't a veteran, in Arkham Files, he'd served in the Navy during the Vietnam War. This week, in honor of the upcoming Veterans Day, I wrote about "[The Veterans of Caffrey Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2019/11/the-veterans-of-caffrey-conversation.html)" for the blog._

_In next week's final chapter, a few surprises are in store for Neal and Peter, some of which were carefully crafted by those two schemers in New York, Elizabeth and Henry._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: _ [ _pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com_ ](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com) _   
_ _Chapter Visuals and Music: The Sands of Abydos board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website: _ [ _pinterest.com/caffreycon_ ](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)


	4. Regeneration

**Cairo, Egypt. Wednesday, December 31, 1975.**

Neal and Peter arrived at their hotel in Cairo early in the afternoon on New Year's Eve. The verdant oasis of Mena House was so close to the pyramids that it seemed like they'd returned to ancient Egypt, only this time they were able to partake of all the modern-day luxuries and conveniences. When they checked in, they found a message from El waiting for them at the front desk, explaining she was waiting for them by the swimming pool. After dropping off their bags in their rooms, they dashed downstairs to join her.

El was enjoying the sun in a lounger next to a gorgeous redhead in a turquoise bikini who, even with a large hat and sunglasses on, Neal had no difficulty in recognizing.

"Is this what you meant when you said your next visit wouldn't be far off?" he murmured to Sara during the flurry of embraces while his heart thumped so loudly he was sure she'd hear it. "Gideon didn't mention he'd arranged for you to join us too."

"He was acting under orders. I wanted to surprise you. As it was, I almost didn't make it. Nigel scheduled me to work undercover at a New Year's Eve party. I told him my Arkham boss had requested my help on another project. Since the newspaper union guarantees us time off during the holidays, Nigel couldn't insist."

"And he believes that Arkham boss you referred to is Larry at the _Arkham Gazette_, not Gideon."

She smiled mischievously. "I can hardly control what assumptions he makes."

Sara was being modest. Neal was confident she could twist Nigel any way she liked. "How long can you stay?"

"I'll have to return tomorrow afternoon," she said with a wince. "I wish it could be longer."

"We'll make every minute count," he promised her.

"What did we miss?" El asked once they were sitting down.

"Just a routine day on a dig," Peter said with a careless shrug. "We traveled back in time to Egypt during the period of the Fourth Dynasty. Neal was mistaken for a son of the pharaoh Khufu and then was taken prisoner by an evil priestess."

"Luckily, my support team was up to the challenge," Neal added, keeping his tone equally deadpan. "Peter and Mozzie transformed themselves into Egyptian gods and rescued me."

"We then crawled through a secret passage into a Neolithic chamber and found the crystal under the stars of ancient Egypt," Peter finished calmly.

"Now tell us what really happened," El said with a laugh.

It took a while but they eventually succeeded in convincing the women. For the explanation, they moved inside to Neal's room and sat out on his balcony where they could admire the pyramids but also have privacy. Peter had already sent back his paint samples with Mozzie, but they'd retained several of the drawings.

As it turned out, they weren't the only ones with news. Sara announced that her investigative skills weren't being used merely for the _International Herald Tribune's_ benefit. "I decided to ask Diana for the name of an Interpol contact," she explained.

"You already have Raquel's telephone number," Neal pointed out, glad he could tease her about being jealous and she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

She made a face at him. "She's stationed in Paris, and I'm sure far too busy for lowly me."

"Did Diana have a name for you?" Peter asked.

Sara nodded. "An agent working in the London office. I've met with Nisha a couple of times. She knows I'm working on an expose of the cult and has promised to let me know if she hears of starfish being left at crime scenes or any other weird phenomena. Nisha contacted me yesterday. We met at the airport before my departure. She'd heard of a murder in Marrakesh, Morocco where locals claimed they'd seen mutant rodents with worm-like appendages on their snouts."

"That sounds suspiciously like zoogs," Peter said.

Sara nodded. "That's what I thought, too. We know zoogs are associated with the cult."

"Have you told Nigel?" Neal asked.

"Not yet, but I should."

"I'd hold off for now," Neal advised. "Until we understand what's going on in Marrakesh, the fewer people who know about it, the better."

She arched an eyebrow. "Now who's jealous? Nigel has read the reports of zoog activity in Arkham. He could be helpful."

"Neal's right to be cautious," El said. "If you bring up anything in connection with Arkham, it could draw more attention to us. The report about the priestess is especially troubling. There could be Tirelian agents working among humans and we'd have no way of identifying them. This is a reminder that we shouldn't talk about our activities with anyone outside our group."

"I haven't said anything to the team about us," Sara assured her. "Consider me your undercover mole."

"And what you discovered proves how helpful you can be," Peter said. "I'd found cave paintings of starfish in a Neolithic site near Marrakesh. That discovery was what led Lavinia to recommend I research the _Necronomicon_. The presence of zoogs indicates an active wormhole in the region. I'd say our next destination is staring us in the face."

"But not until we've celebrated the New Year," El said firmly. "The hotel is serving a late dinner in the outdoor dining area around the pool. There will be dancing and champagne to ring in 1976. I packed your tuxes. Let this serve as a lesson. For any dig funded by Gideon, formal attire is mandatory."

"And we'll also have music," Neal added. "Sara said she'd sing 'Mockingbird' on New Year's Eve. I can't think of a better backdrop."

"Not so fast," she protested. "If you'll recall that bet was to sing at Dorian's coffeehouse. I'm truly devastated that it won't be possible to return to Arkham in time."

Neal rolled his eyes. "You probably convinced Gideon to arrange this trip as a way of weaseling out of the bet."

"No, but it would have been a great idea."

"I can see it now. Every year from now on, we'll be watching fireworks in some exotic location so you won't have to sing."

She smiled mischievously. "What's wrong with that?"

_Not a thing._

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They dined and danced by the pyramids, lifted their champagne glasses in a toast to the upcoming year, and at the stroke of midnight when Neal kissed her, Sara wished she could make time stand still.

El and Peter went to their room afterward, but Neal had made no move to leave. The band would continue to play for another hour. They swirled to the sounds of Elton John and the Beatles. Sara had never danced with Neal before. Yet another talent he'd kept hidden. Before the night was over, would she be able to discover other talents he'd concealed?

"How's the whiplash?" she asked during a break in the music. They'd drifted over to the far side of the terrace, away from the band and the revelers. The pyramids loomed behind them in the night sky. Neal still had his arm around her waist. The slinky fabric of her gown felt gossamer-thin under his fingers.

He smiled sheepishly. "I've been a little preoccupied. Haven't even noticed it."

"You see, I told you it'd go away."

His hand slid down to her hip and he drew her close to him. "I'm glad you didn't give up on me."

"That's not happening. Haven't you learned by now I'm crazy about you?" She cupped her hands around the back of his neck and tilted his head down to kiss him.

It hadn't been necessary to ask him about the whiplash, although she wanted to hear him confirm it. She could tell that he was much more at ease. Over Christmas, Neal had been lost in his head. Clearly not a problem now. When they broke free, she murmured, "I think traveling through wormholes is good for you."

He started to laugh.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "Think about it. All that algolnium circulating around you. We know something in wormholes heals wounds. Perhaps you were left with a trace amount of gravity wave distortion from Tirelia, and you needed to return to a wormhole to be healed."

"Or perhaps it was all the skin changing I went through—merging with a child, turning into an Egyptian, pretending to be Horus. I may be growing accustomed to switching skins." He drew back and gazed at her questioningly. "But I'm less sure than ever which skin is my true one. Can you accept the uncertainty?"

She pulled him back toward her. "Of course, I can. No matter what else happens, you're human too, and I intend to make sure you remember that."

"I'm counting on that," he murmured and kissed her again, this time more thoroughly. "Henry saw us skating together on campus. He asked me if we're an item. I didn't answer him, but I assume you wouldn't mind?"

"Moving from fake girlfriend to an item? I'll take that as progress. But if we're officially an item, I'll start to be more demanding."

He cocked a challenging eyebrow. "In what way?"

"The next time you go through a wormhole, you're taking your fellow item with you. Wherever you go, I want to be there with you."

"I'd love that as well," he said softly. The band resumed playing and they began moving to the music.

"I think it's our destiny to wander around ruins in an evening gown and tux," she declared. As long as she was daydreaming, she might as well go all out.

"How are you going to manage the demands of your job?"

"They don't begin to compare," she scoffed. "I'll finish this assignment but then I plan to return to Arkham even if they ask me to stay on."

"Nigel will be devastated."

"He'll survive." She bit her tongue from saying more. There was no need to upset Neal by telling him about her boss. She was sick and tired of Nigel hitting on her. She'd checked around and discovered he didn't treat the other women like he did her. Did he think she was a naive American who was an easy mark? Fortunately, it was nothing she couldn't handle. The job was an important one, not only for her career but also for their group. She'd held Nigel off by pretending to be interested but shy. Her contract was up on the first of March. By then, her part for the exposé should be completed, and she could return to her job in Arkham with a clear conscience.

Turning her mind onto far more pleasant topics, she said, "I would have loved to have been in ancient Egypt. The jewelry, the wigs, those linen garments . . . Just how transparent were they?"

He grinned as he spun her around. "They didn't leave much to the imagination. You would have made a beautiful Egyptian in a body-fitting sheath."

She gave a soft huff. For the past several months, he'd been the one having all the adventures. She was done with living off imagination and dreams. "It's a new year. Shouldn't we start it by not restricting ourselves to our imaginations?"

He didn't have to say a word. She read the answer in his eyes. She'd always thought they were blue but now she saw they were shot with flashes of green. Their intensity hinted of oceans and skies she'd never seen. But the hunger she was very familiar with. It was what she felt too.

She slipped her hands under his jacket and circled his waist. "The view of the pyramids is as spectacular from my room as yours."

"I won't be looking at the pyramids," he murmured, his voice husky with what she hoped was the same desire she was feeling. She'd need to return to London the next day. Neal and Peter would probably leave for Marrakesh by the end of the week. But the rest of the night was theirs.

**Library Vault, Miskatonic University. Saturday, January 3, 1976.**

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Mozzie said, addressing the assembled group. "We've been keeping the crystal safe pending your return. The moment has now arrived."

Neal glanced around the reading table. All the members of their group except Sara were present—Peter, El, Cyrus, Lavinia, Gideon, and the visiting Meropian scientist Pagna. They'd gathered behind closed doors in the vault of the university library. The star attractions were on the center of the table—the armillary sphere and the celaenite crystal. Lavinia had provided a tray of black velvet for the crystal. Against the dark cloth, it sparkled like a diamond tinted with verdigris.

Mozzie turned to Neal. "I cede the floor to you."

The message delivered by the winged serpent had instructed Neal to place the crystal in the center bracket of the sphere. When he held the crystal near the prongs, he could feel it being pulled into position as if it were magnetized. A soft snap was heard as he pressed it carefully into the mount. The armillary sphere began to glow with a soft radiance.

"Hello, Neal," a woman's voice said. The voice was a warm contralto.

Neal stared at the sphere, dumbfounded. Peter motioned him to say something, but what was the proper form of address for an alien armillary sphere? "Hello," he ventured, feeling completely out of his depth. "Am I speaking to the crystal or the armillary sphere?"

"We are now one. Retrieve the serpent's message and press it to one of my hoops."

Neal hastened to obtain the manuscript from the Shrewsbury cabinet. The other members of the group remained silent. Did they worry if she'd approve of their presence? She must have some way of perceiving them since she knew he was there.

The inscribed scale from the winged serpent had been residing in the vault ever since their return from Lyon. When Neal held it to one of the brass rings encircling the central globe, the ring uttered a low hum and shone more brightly.

"Do you know what's going on?" Neal murmured to Pagna.

"Likely a memory transference," she said. "The message on the serpent's scale was not only for you but also for the sphere."

"Thank you, Neal," the voice said. "You may return the message to the cabinet."

Never argue with an alien armillary sphere was fast becoming his new motto. After he'd returned the message to the cabinet, the voice added, "Welcome to you all. I have now learned your names and profiles as well as the nature of my location."

Mozzie cleared his throat. "How should we address you?"

"Would you like to give me a name, Professor Atwood?"

"Please call me Mozzie, and yes, that would be helpful. Milly, for instance. Short for armillary, you understand."

"An acceptable solution. I shall now proceed to absorb the contents of this library. You need not fear. It will cause your books no harm and afterward I will be better able to serve you. Neal, you should designate someone to learn my instrumentation. An advanced understanding of mathematics and physics is desirable. Do you require time to consider your decision?"

Not with someone's eyes shining as bright as the celaenite crystal. "That's not necessary. There could be no better choice than the scientist who named you." He turned to Mozzie, not that he needed to ask. "I hope you'll accept."

"I was drawn to Milly from the day you had your first vision of her," Mozzie said, his face shining with excitement. "I predict a long and fruitful relationship."

And so with the new year, a new era began as well.

When Milly entered the absorption phase, her glow was reduced to a soft amber shimmer. Talking in her presence felt awkward. She was a new member of their band but she was a stranger. How had she learned about them? Had the Celaenians been reading their thoughts and somehow transferred the information to her? Neal remembered he'd invited the serpent to read his mind. At the time, his goal was for it to recognize who his associates were. Was that an open-ended invitation? The others didn't seem troubled by the concept. After Lavinia's mind probes, perhaps this didn't seem that unusual.

"Milly makes me wish more than ever I could stay longer," Pagna admitted, gazing at the sphere wistfully.

"Do you have a departure date set?" El asked.

"I'll need to leave in a week. Mozzie, do you plan to go to Marrakesh with the others?"

He shook his head. "No, my place is here. We must take advantage of your remaining days on Earth."

"Milly reminds me of the stories I've heard of the librarian on Celaeno," Gideon said. "It also was a construct, designed by the Celaenians to instruct others."

Milly's home would be Pagna's lab. The Meropians were confident that with Milly as an intermediary Mozzie could be trained in how to use many of the Meropian instruments.

"I have concluded the absorption phase," Milly said. "Do you have any questions for me?"

Neal stared at her in astonishment. In a few minutes, she'd assimilated the extensive resources of the library. He was gaining a better appreciation of the gift the Celaenians had bestowed upon them. The group had speculated Neal was being put through a series of tests to evaluate his readiness. He suspected he wasn't the only one who'd been placed under their microscope. He cleared his throat. Where to start? Would she be more responsive than Lavinia? The others were waiting for him to speak, and Neal asked the first one on the top of his list. "Are you capable of creating wormholes?"

"Not in my present state, but with the addition of crystals I have that ability."

"With sufficient crystals, will you be able to open portals to Tirelia as well as to planets within this galaxy?"

"That is correct."

_So return trips to Tirelia and Merope were possible_. His heart beating faster, he asked, "What was the shimmer that I saw on the cave entrance at Abydos and why was I the only one who could see it?"

"What you call a shimmer is a manifestation of energy caused by excited algolnium atoms." Milly was silent for a minute as if consulting notes. "The ancient Greeks used the word ether to describe a plane of energy which exists in addition to the planes of gas, liquid, and matter. In some philosophies, ether is called the etheric plane. Deep within the heart of your planet is a dense core of pure algolnium. It is the origin of the etheric plane. Etheric energy exists in abundance within wormholes. The Celaenian components in your body chemistry enable you to perceive it."

Neal shot a look at Cyrus, their chemistry advisor, whose jaw had dropped at the revelation. Their understanding of the forces of nature was being rewritten.

"Do other planets have algolnium in their core?" Cyrus asked.

"Many have trace amounts, Professor Dexter, but Earth's core is particularly rich. That is why the Elnath settled on your planet. The type of algolnium in planetary cores is a heavier isotope than what occurs on the surface. The energy it radiates is necessary for the Elnath to grow crystals."

"Is this also why the Ymar are so interested in our planet?" Peter asked.

"Your theory is correct, Professor Gilman. Certain species are more sensitive to etheric energy than others. The Ymar are able to draw power from it."

Was that connected to why Azathoth was so interested in him? If Celaenians were composed of pure etheric energy, they might radiate it as well. "On the planet Tirelia, the shantaks said I glowed," Neal said, voicing his suspicions aloud, "but Peter and Mozzie didn't. Do you know why?"

"You also radiate etheric energy, although not as strongly as a wormhole. That is what the shantaks observed."

"Will I be able to control it?"

"Perhaps. You were channeling the energy within you when your amulet branded the priestess although you weren't aware of it."

Neal didn't know whether he was more surprised by the power or that Milly was aware of the experience. She must have not only absorbed the contents of the library but their thoughts as well.

"You are a new life form," she continued. "I do not know what you are capable of, but I am here to assist."

_A new life form?_ Neal knew he was different, but had never viewed it in those terms. Was it time to stop thinking he was a hybrid?

How would Sara react? That night at the pyramids when they'd made love they'd forged a bond that he hoped would withstand whatever alien weirdness came his way.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Making the adjustment to the armillary sphere having a personality didn't take much effort especially since Milly was so capable. When Neal mentioned the need to protect her, she dismissed his concern, claiming that if a stranger approached her, she'd render herself invisible by shifting into a different plane of existence. Problem solved.

Preparations continued at full throttle for the trip to Marrakesh. With the university on winter break, they were free to leave immediately. Neal and the Gilmans had reservations to depart on the sixth of January.

The day after the momentous events in the library, Peter called Neal to suggest a return to the library vault. He'd remembered that Laban Shrewsbury had made an expedition to Morocco in 1920 and hoped they could find details relevant to his exploration in the archaeologist's travel logs.

Peter hadn't arrived at the vault when Neal signed himself in. He retrieved Laban's journals from the Shrewsbury cabinet and set to work.

When Peter showed up, he apologized for being late. "Cyrus and I were working on dating the paint samples from the Osireion and it took longer than I anticipated."

"Were you able to reach a conclusion?"

"I believe so," he said, taking a seat at the square library table in the center of the room. "Khufu reigned during the third millennium BC. That tomb where I found the starfish was of the predynastic pharaoh Iry-Hor who lived approximately six hundred years earlier or around 3200 BC. The paint in the Osireion is dated to 7000 BC. That's the approximate time when Celaenians were at war with the Ymar on Earth."

Although on one level, Neal had already accepted the construction was during the Ymar period, the confirmation was still staggering. "Up to now, we've only known about small Neolithic cultures during that period."

Peter nodded in agreement. "Archaeologists haven't found any evidence of writing or traces of stone construction, and yet we're confronted with a sophisticated structure. The paintings were similar to the best works of the New Kingdom. This is evidence that at least a few elements of Ymar culture survived after their banishment."

"Have you told Lavinia?"

"I stopped off at her office to discuss my findings before coming here."

"The Ymar may have been banished, but their works lived on, and perhaps their servants too. Where does the priestess fit into the puzzle?"

Peter shook his head. "We have no way of determining it unless we run into her again. Not something I'm looking forward to." He took a breath. "But I have news about another puzzle piece. Diana called me this morning." His lips compressed into a tight line. "I'd asked her to run a background check on Henry."

Given Peter's concern with security, Neal wasn't so much surprised as disappointed Peter hadn't said anything. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Did you think I'd object?"

Peter looked a little embarrassed. "Not so much that as I would have deflated your joy at seeing him again."

"What did she find out?" Neal asked, lecturing himself to not overreact. Peter's excuse was entirely logical. If Neal had been in his shoes, he would have probably done the same.

"More questions than answers," Peter admitted. "Interpol has a file on him. He has the reputation of being a gambler and a thief. He's also a hustler and is suspected of having participated in many illegal operations. He has no known employer but is suspected of working freelance with several mercenary outfits. He doesn't operate in the States so has been able to stay off the FBI's radar."

"Has he ever been convicted of any crime?"

"No."

"Has he ever been arrested?"

Peter shook his head. "No, but he's been brought in for questioning."

"In other words, he's the ideal candidate to work with us."

"Wait a min—"

"Look at our past two missions," Neal insisted. "We're thieves too. So far we've stolen an armillary sphere and a priceless crystal."

Peter winced. "I wish you wouldn't phrase it in those terms. In any case, we've managed just fine without him."

"We may have just had some lucky breaks. In the interest of full disclosure, I found a letter from Henry upon our return. He'd like to discuss the possibility of working with us." That was overstating Henry's interest—he'd merely joked about dusting off his cape—but close enough. "I've written him inviting him to return to Arkham, or if he'd rather, meet us in Marrakesh."

"You mentioned Marrakesh?" Peter frowned. "I wish you hadn't."

"Don't worry, I didn't share any details about our mission or what happened in Egypt. I may not see him for months. I realize that if he wants to work with us, Lavinia will need to check him out, just like she did with Sara."

Before Peter could protest further, he switched the subject. "I also found some notes about Morocco." He handed Peter one of Laban's worn leather journals. "He visited a place called Scorpion Hill. He wrote of a cave containing starfish inscriptions and images unlike he'd ever seen before. Peter, his descriptions resemble the drawing of an Elnath that you found in the cave outside Lyon!"

The news worked as he hoped. Peter's face flushed with the prospects, his suspicions about Henry thrust aside for the moment. "If the Elnath lived there, that cave could be one of the spots they grew crystals."

"My thoughts exactly. Have you ever heard of Scorpion Hill?"

"It's in the northern Atlas Mountains. I'd excavated a Neolithic site in the vicinity. It was where I found the starfish drawings." His words trailed off. "Sara's report of zoogs indicates the likelihood of a wormhole . . . There could be an active cult. Checking out the site could be dangerous."

"Seek out cults, close wormholes . . . isn't what we're supposed to do? We were planning to go to Morocco anyway. The possibility of discovering an Elnath cave makes the risk worthwhile. Besides we survived an evil priestess in ancient Egypt."

"Meaning this should be a piece of Moroccan orange cake?"

Neal exchanged smiles with him. "Sounds good to me. Classes don't start for nearly two weeks. Mozzie will be so busy with Milly, he won't even know we're gone."

Peter's expression grew serious. "You wouldn't rather focus on what she can teach you?"

"You heard what she said. She can only inform us about the phenomena we've witnessed. And Milly refuses to give any details about worlds we haven't experienced."

"So the upcoming trip is to save you from having to listen to Mozzie's endless discussions of gravitational waves?"

"Exactly."

Peter chuckled. "Then hop aboard the Marrakesh Express!"

Neal knew better than to think Peter's concerns had lessened. His hadn't either, but he couldn't simply shut himself up in his office and wait for his skin to turn blue. He and Peter were both worried about security, but the way Neal saw it, Henry had precisely the skills they needed. He hoped Henry would catch that express too.

* * *

_Notes: The Marrakesh Express will arrive at the station in February when I'll start posting the next Arkham Files story, Scorpion Hill. Will Henry be aboard as Neal hopes? Readers of Caffrey Conversation know he has a habit of popping up in the most unexpected places. _

_Next week I'll post the next story in the Invisible Library series, Rue Saint-Martin, when Irene discovers Paris in the late 18th century isn't a healthy place for humans or dragons. On December 12, it will be time for another Caffrey Conversation story, Italian Masquerade, to begin. What happened in Sands of Abydos will factor in the plot as the Clueless con enters the final stage._

_My grateful thanks to Penna Nomen for her beta help and encouragement, and thanks to you for coming along on this Egyptian adventure! _

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: _ [ _pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com_ ](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com) _   
_ _Chapter Visuals and Music: The Sands of Abydos board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website: _ [ _pinterest.com/caffreycon_ ](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)


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